


Hungry Like the Wolf

by crimsonherbarium



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Bisexual Lambert (The Witcher), Bondage, Dating, Dom Aiden (The Witcher), Enthusiastic Consent, F/M, Families of Choice, Gang Violence, Gay Aiden (The Witcher), Lambert and Keira have kind of a bffs/fuckbuddies relationship, Lambert-centric (The Witcher), Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mercenary Lambert (The Witcher), O valley of penis 🎵, Plotty, Pole Dancing, Sexting, Smut, Stalker Jad Karadin, Strangers to Lovers, Stripper Aiden (The Witcher), Strippers & Strip Clubs, Sub Lambert (The Witcher), Switching, Toss a coin to your stripper, gratuitous texting, i promise aiden doesn't die in this, no love triangles, porn and plot, quite a lot of minor character cameos, the whole package
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:06:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 44,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26236126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsonherbarium/pseuds/crimsonherbarium
Summary: Lambert’s life could be worse.He’s got a tiny apartment, a landlady that’s always breathing down his neck, and a job that’s probably going to get him killed one day, but all things considered he can’t really complain. He spends most of his nights with Geralt and Eskel, chasing down jobs at the local strip joint. They’re usually too caught up in petty mob politics to take much notice of the scenery.That is—until a dancer named Aiden talks him into buying a dance and derails his routine in a major way. Lambert’s life just got a lot more complicated, but somehow he doesn’t mind. Even though he’s got a feeling the other shoe’s about to drop…
Relationships: Aiden/Lambert (The Witcher), Minor Lambert/Keira Metz (The Witcher), Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 95
Kudos: 126
Collections: Discord Community Archive, The Modern Witcher AU Collection





	1. A Question of Lust

**Author's Note:**

> Beta read by [bookscorpion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookscorpion)! They also write for Witcher and have some great works for Shadowrun: Hong Kong and Fury Road as well. Check them out!

The entire night had been a wash.

Three hours wasted sitting around waiting up for a client who never showed. Lambert had had hangovers that were more productive than this.

He pulled out his phone to check the time, found a slew of missed messages, and groaned. The bass in the music blasting through the loudspeakers was so loud he could feel it in his chest; there was no way he could’ve heard it going off through that. He skimmed them and thumbed through a quick response.

 **[22:28] Geralt:** You done yet?

 **[23:11] Lambert:** Joel didn’t show. I got jack shit  
**[23:12] Geralt:** Damn.  
**[23:12] Geralt:** Wrap it up soon. Eskel might’ve found something  
**[23:14] Lambert:** Yeah yeah  
**[23:14] Lambert:** Don’t wait up. I’ll get there when I get there

He shoved his phone back in his pocket, rolling his eyes. If he’d already wasted his evening on a job that didn’t pan out, he might as well have a drink for his trouble. He pushed his way through the crush of people crowding the stage toward the bar.

The place was properly called the Rosemary and Thyme, but everyone called it Rose’s. It was hardly the most prestigious strip club on Glory Lane, but that was part of the reason Lambert and the others favored it. The Passiflora down the street liked to pretend it was high class, but security there was way tighter. They had a whole network of cameras covering the dance floor, plus half a dozen bouncers patrolling at any given time. 

Rose’s had never tried to pretend it was anything other than what it was. There were no cameras. There were only two bouncers, and unless something was going down they stayed by the entrance. It was loud, and crowded, and everyone minded their own business.

The owner was far from the eponymous Rose. The guy’s name was Julian—although he’d been trying to convince everyone to call him Dandelion for years, god knew why—and he was about what you’d expect for an aging rock star. He’d never been that popular, but apparently he’d made enough money off his albums to buy the club with cash. Lambert and the others had had a good thing going with him for quite a few years now. He turned a blind eye to their business, and in return they made sure that anyone who hassled him spent a good long time thinking about why that had been a bad idea. Usually from a hospital bed.

“Lambert,” the gaudily-dressed blonde woman behind the bar greeted him with a grin. “Good to see you. What’ll it be?”

“Hey, Priscilla. Vodka and Coke. Make it a double?” He slid a five across the counter.

“You’re about a buck short.”

“C’mon, you know I’m good for it.”

“I know you’re never going to pay me back no matter how much work you get, but fine.” She hummed to herself as she poured the liquor, dancing along to the beat of the music. “Here. Don’t tell Julian.”

Lambert grinned. “Like I’d rat you out. Thanks.”

He took the glass Priscilla slid across the counter and downed half of it as she moved to take another order at the opposite end.

Lambert leaned back against the bar, scanning the club on the slim chance Joel had decided to show after all. There was no sign of him in the faint glow cast by the neon and the shadows of the stage lights. Dancers wandered the floor, flirting with the audience. A few were on stage, climbing and spinning and contorting on brass poles like it took no effort at all.

Everywhere, alcohol flowed like water. Lambert understood that, at least. Liquor loosened pockets just as well as lips. He’d always felt a little sorry for the poor saps who came here to get swindled out of their entire paychecks, though. He watched the money changing hands with a slight shake of his head and took another long draught of his drink.

“I think out of every person here, you’re the only one who isn’t enjoying himself,” a voice said to his right.

Lambert turned, raising an eyebrow, to see a dancer leaning against the bar beside him: a man about Lambert’s height, with curly chestnut hair, a short beard, and piercing green eyes. He was lithe, but muscular, and he wasn’t wearing much of anything—just some underwear that left very little to the imagination, and a generous dusting of glitter. 

In another world, he probably would have been Lambert’s type.

“Maybe I didn’t come here to have fun,” Lambert replied gruffly.

“Oh, believe me—I clocked you the second you walked in.” The dancer’s eyes glinted dangerously. “What’s your name?”

“…Lambert.” Lambert sipped his drink, pointedly avoiding looking at him.

“Lambert,” the dancer repeated, like he was deciding how it tasted. “And what do you do, Lambert?”

Jesus, couldn’t this guy take a hint? “I work in private security.”

The dancer threw back his head and laughed. “Bullshit. You’re a merc.”

Lambert shot him a sidelong glance. “Oh yeah? How’d you figure that?”

“I know your type. All eyes and no cash.”

“Then you already know you’re wasting your time.”

“I never said that.” The dancer waved down Priscilla, who deposited a shot of violently purple liquor on the bar in front of him a moment later.

“Why bother, then?” Lambert was starting to get antsy. Maybe he should have called it early and met up with Geralt and Eskel instead.

“Hmm,” the dancer hummed with a half-smile. “You come here a lot, don’t you?”

“Yeah?” Lambert shrugged. “So what? This is where I do business.”

“Ever bought a dance?”

Lambert scoffed. “Fuck no.”

The dancer rolled his eyes and downed the shot. “Come on.” He headed into the crush of dancers and patrons, tugging at the lapel of Lambert’s leather jacket as he went.

Lambert stayed exactly where he was. “What?”

“You’re getting a dance.”

“Why?”

The dancer put his hands on his hips. “Because you’re in here four nights a week and you’ve never had one. At this point, my pride is wounded.”

“If I go with you, will you leave me the fuck alone afterwards?”

He laughed. “If that’s what you want.”

Lambert drained the last of his drink and slammed the glass down on the bar. “Fine. Fuck it.”

“That’s the spirit.” The dancer grinned, grabbing Lambert by the hand before he could protest and leading him across the crowded dance floor toward the VIP rooms in the back. Lambert followed reluctantly, casting a furtive glance toward his usual table just in case Joel had decided to turn up. Or that Geralt had come looking for him. That would be infinitely worse.

The dancer paused at the heavy velvet curtain that divided the VIP rooms from the rest of the club, holding out a hand.

“Twenty bucks.”

Lambert stared back at him. “You’re kidding, right?”

“What kind of guy do you think I am?” He raised an eyebrow.

Lambert swore under his breath and fumbled for his wallet. Christ, when had he gotten so sweaty? Was this really all it took to get him flustered these days?

“Here,” he said, thrusting a crumpled bill into the dancer’s hand. “C’mon. Let’s go.”

For all the time Lambert spent at Rose’s, he’d never actually been past this point. Or backstage, for that matter. He knew a few of the dancers by now, but not well enough to go looking for them when they were on break.

He wasn’t really sure what he’d expected the VIP rooms to look like, but it wasn’t this. He’d always felt like the whole thing was kind of sleazy, although even he had to admit that was rich coming from someone like him. He’d figured it was probably pretty gross behind the curtain, but it was by far the opposite. Dandelion had to have picked the decor—it was decadent to the point that it was out of place. There was an antique table with a platter of chocolate covered strawberries on it, a series of neon tubes running along the baseboards, and a single velvet chair in the middle of the room. The walls were draped in satin, and the entire space was bathed in a soft purple glow.

“Well, damn,” he muttered, shrugging out of his jacket and realizing a moment later that he had no idea what he was actually supposed to do.

“I’ll take that,” the dancer said, plucking it from his fingers and draping it over the table.

Lambert shifted. “What, uh…”

The dancer only smiled. He planted a hand on Lambert’s chest and slowly walked him backward until his knees hit the chair and he fell down into it.

Hell, Lambert thought to himself, gazing up at him, dumbfounded. The dancer looked even better in this light. It wasn’t often Lambert found himself at a loss for words.

And a moment later, he was straddling him.

Lambert froze, gripping the sides of the chair with both hands because he knew he wasn’t supposed to touch. The dancer was _warm_ , even through the layers of clothing dividing them. His weight was incredibly solid and inviting against Lambert’s thighs.

“Relax,” the dancer murmured, tracing the line of Lambert’s jaw with a fingertip and sending chills down his spine. “You look like you’re at the doctor’s office.”

“You never told me your name,” Lambert blurted, because he was struggling to think of anything other than whether he was supposed to get hard during this or not.

The dancer chuckled and leaned in to whisper in his ear. “It’s Aiden.”

“Aiden.” Lambert swallowed. “What am I supposed to do?”

“Keep your hands where they are, try to relax, and enjoy it.”

“Easier said than done.”

Aiden laughed. “Seems like you’re enjoying it fine to me.”

Lambert’s face burned.

 _“Relax,”_ Aiden repeated.

Lambert tried to focus on the beat of the music, instead. It was softer in here, muted by velvet and satin, but it was still loud enough for him to feel the numbness in his eardrums in the transition between songs.

Aiden was a hell of a dancer. His motions were fluid and precise, more graceful by far than Lambert had ever imagined a lap dance could be. His breath was hot against Lambert’s neck as he ground against him, which only made Lambert’s pants tighter and more uncomfortable with every passing second. Lambert could smell him, too—the faint sour tinge of sweat, but also his cologne, so subtle that he hadn’t noticed it until Aiden was literally right on top of him. It was mysterious, enticing. Juniper, maybe? Hell if he knew.

Faster now. More insistent. Warm breath against his skin. Simulated kisses that fell just short of Lambert’s lips. Aiden nudging his legs apart and settling between them, balancing on one knee while he undulated in the low light, his muscles rippling underneath his skin.

Shit. Lambert could get used to this.

It was over all too soon. Lambert felt the loss of Aiden’s warmth against him acutely, sitting mesmerized as Aiden sauntered over to the table and popped a strawberry from the platter into his mouth.

“So, first taste—what did you think?”

Lambert thought he had a raging case of blue balls. “It was alright.”

Aiden laughed. “Sure thing, Mr. Stoic. I’ll take what I can get.”

Lambert got to his feet, wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans. He reached awkwardly around Aiden to retrieve his jacket and pulled it on.

“So…”

“So,” Aiden said, raising an eyebrow.

“See you around.”

Lambert pushed past him, ducking back through the velvet curtain just in time to get nailed in the face with the opening beat of _Sweet Dreams are Made of This_ by the speaker just outside. He pulled his phone out of his pocket as he beelined for the exit and shot off a text.

 **[23:47] Lambert:** On my way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back with something a little different than my usual fare!! I've been working on this story for a really long time and I'm super happy with where it's going so far. I hope you guys like it--please consider leaving me a comment if you did! 🖤


	2. Fascination Street

Lambert slept through four alarms the next morning and woke up disoriented at noon. He reached out groggily for his phone and swore when he saw the time, sitting up and rubbing his eyes.

He felt strange, like the bed wasn’t quite solid underneath him. His memories of the previous night floated in a haze of neon. Had it been real? It felt so far away, somehow. The thump of a Frank Ocean song through a velvet curtain. His hands gripping the frame of the chair. Aiden’s warmth against his skin.

Lambert pressed his hands into his face until he saw sparks behind his eyes, pushing it out of his mind. It was a one-time thing. He had other shit to do.

He dragged himself out of bed, showered the sweat and cologne of the previous night off his skin, and forced down a cup of instant coffee because it was the only thing he had left in the kitchen. 

Eskel had been texting him while he was sleeping to tell him they had a job. Lambert groaned when he saw who the client was. His moral compass didn’t exactly point north, but taking contracts from the mob always made him uneasy. Particularly since he and the others tended to play both sides. One of these days it was going to blow up in their faces.

This time, they were working for Aretuza. Given the choice between them and Emreis’s thugs, he’d choose doing Philippa’s dirty work every time. The blind bitch was batshit crazy, but he could always be reasonably certain he’d be alive when the job was over. People who crossed Emhyr tended to disappear and turn up months later in a dozen separate pieces.

It wasn’t until Lambert was already on the subway that he found it. His fingers brushed something unfamiliar when he jammed his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket—a crumpled scrap of paper. He couldn’t remember leaving anything in his pockets the night before. He pulled it out and unfolded it, squinting at the writing in the brief flashes of light he got when the train blew past the lights on the tunnel walls.

It was a phone number, and a brief note. _Text me sometime — Aiden._

Lambert read it a couple of times without really understanding and then crammed it back in his pocket. Well, shit. This dude really didn’t know when to leave a guy alone, did he?

Memories of Aiden’s warm touch on his skin flashed through his mind and he stomped them down. Not now. He had a job to do. He could deal with this later.

✴

Later ended up being about six hours down the line. Not that Lambert had ever been great about keeping himself focused during a task when there were other things on his mind, but he hadn’t let himself entertain the possibility of responding until the job was done, at least. It had been a pretty simple task, thankfully—just shaking down a bodega owner who hadn’t bothered paying his protection money to Aretuza lately. The guy was a coward and folded the second they started pressing him. No punches thrown, no blood spilled. Lambert was glad for that. He and Stjepan went way back. The thought of knocking his teeth out didn’t exactly fill him with joy.

It was done now, though, and there was a wad of mafia cash burning a hole in his pocket. Lambert locked and unlocked his phone, mulling things over in his head as his beer got warm on the table in front of him. He’d figured that Aiden had only been coming on to him last night for the cash, and he’d been fine with that. Only an idiot would have taken a stripper’s on-the-clock flirting at face value. Yeah, Aiden was hot. Lambert wouldn’t have agreed to the dance in the first place if he hadn’t been attracted to him at least a little. The phone number, though…that complicated things.

When had Aiden even slipped it into his pocket? Lambert thought of the way he had taken his coat when he stepped into the VIP room, smoothing the leather with his hands as he hung it on the table. That had to have been it, right? Had the whole thing just been an elaborate setup to get inside his head?

Lambert cursed under his breath, reaching into his pocket and clenching the scrap of paper in his fist.

“What’s eating you?”

The deep rumble of Eskel’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts. Lambert looked up, shaking his head. “Huh?”

“You've been sulking all afternoon—more’n usual, I mean. What gives?”

Lambert rolled his eyes. “Nothing.”

“Sure,” Eskel said with an amicable chuckle. “C’mon, I’m not stupid. You get yourself in trouble again?”

Lambert struggled with himself for a moment. “You’ll laugh at me.”

“Will not.”

“Fine,” Lambert groaned. “A guy gave me his number last night.”

Eskel looked like he was trying very hard to maintain a poker face. “Yeah. Sure. That seems like a totally normal thing to stare daggers at your beer over.”

“It’s complicated,” Lambert hissed. “He’s a dancer at Rose’s.”

“Lambert, Lambert,” Geralt said in a teasing tone, sliding into the booth next to Eskel. “You finally get off your high horse?”

“Fuck off.” Lambert took a draught of his beer.

“I’m still not seeing the problem,” Eskel said with a shrug. “Do you not like him or something?”

“…I dunno.” Lambert looked away sullenly. “Yeah, I guess I like him.”

“Just text him then. What’s the issue?”

Lambert grimaced. “I don’t like being manipulated.”

Geralt rolled his eyes. “You don’t like that he made the first move.”

Lambert glared at him wordlessly. Eskel threw back his head and laughed. Lambert could feel the bass of it in his bones.

“Fuck you.” He squeezed his fist tighter around the offending scrap of paper.

“Swallow your pride and get over it,” Geralt shot back.

“Don’t tell me what to do.” Lambert shoved his phone back in his pocket and drained the rest of his beer before standing up to leave.

“Oh, come on. Don’t be like that,” Geralt groaned.

Eskel shook his head. “Let him go.”

“Catch you assholes later,” Lambert said curtly, heading for the door.

The sun was already most of the way down as he stepped out onto the filthy sidewalk, and the darkening sky was heavy with clouds. It was probably going to start pissing rain any second. He found himself wishing he’d taken his bike instead of the subway. He could have been home in less than half the time.

Still, though, if he had time to kill…

His hand strayed to his pocket again. Lambert pulled out the scrap of paper, staring at the curly handwriting on it and thinking of Aiden’s smug grin. The scent of his cologne. How he wanted to smell it again.

“…God damnit.”

He pulled out his phone and entered the number before he could talk himself out of it.

**[19:17] Lambert:** Hey it’s Lambert  
**[19:17] Lambert:** From Rose’s last night  
**[19:19] (212) 555 0174:** I was wondering when you were going to message me ;)  
**[19:20] (212) 555 0174:** How are you today, Mr. Stoic?  
**[19:22] Lambert:** Could be worse. You?  
**[19:23] (212) 555 0174:** Hmm. Not too bad.

Lambert struggled with himself and lost.

**[19:25] Lambert:** Listen, do you want to get dinner or something?  
**[19:26] (212) 555 0174:** I’d love that. I don’t get off work until 2 though. Might be kind of late?  
**[19:26] Lambert:** 2 works fine. I know a place that’s open all night  
**[19:28] (212) 555 0174:** Sounds great to me. Mind picking me up?  
**[19:29] Lambert:** Sure

So it was a date, then. Lambert was simultaneously excited and filled with dread. What the hell had he gotten himself into?

✴

The rest of the evening passed in a nervous blur. Lambert paced around his apartment anxiously, unable to settle comfortably anywhere. He showered, trimmed his beard, and did his best to force his hair to behave. He failed miserably on that count—it had always done whatever the fuck it wanted, and it was getting pretty thin at the temples these days anyway.

Clothes. Something simple, right? He didn’t want to look like he was trying too hard. He ended up settling on dark jeans and his leather jacket with a deep red t-shirt underneath. It was pretty much what he always wore, but at least the stuff he dug out of the closet didn’t have any obvious holes or stains. It was hard to keep things nice in his line of work.

Lambert looked himself over in the mirror, smoothing a hand over his beard. He didn’t look half bad. Good enough for this, at least. Hopefully Aiden wasn’t expecting him to take him anywhere fancy.

He dug through the medicine cabinet as an afterthought, remembering that there was a bottle of cologne lurking somewhere toward the back. He’d gotten it as a gift a while back—from Triss, he was pretty sure—and never actually worn it, but he remembered it smelling nice. He wiped the dust off the bottle and splashed some on, humming in approval. Yeah, definitely good enough. Any more effort than this and he’d come off looking desperate.

He killed the last few minutes scrolling mindlessly on his phone, and then grabbed his jacket and headed for the door.

He decided to take his bike over to Rose’s this time. The rain had already come and gone by now, and even if it was a bit small for two people it was a damn sight more private than the subway. The motorcycle’s engine purred to life under him, and he was off.

The ride did wonders for his nerves. There was something about the wind in his hair, and the scent of rain on asphalt, and the sodium glow of the streetlights, that felt so freeing. He bled away into the night, his bike an extension of himself as he leaned into the turns and opened up the throttle on the straightaways.

It was over all too soon. The familiar neon wash of Rose’s spilled out over the pavement as Lambert pulled up onto the sidewalk. It was just past two, according to the clock on his phone, and from the sound of things the party inside was going strong as ever.

Lambert didn’t miss the bouncer posted at the front giving him the side-eye as he cut the engine and dismounted. He stayed at what felt like a reasonable distance and waited. The guy was built like a brick shithouse and covered in tattoos. Probably better not to get on his bad side.

Aiden slipped out the side door a few minutes later, dressed in a simple button-down and ripped jeans. His curls were wet, like he’d just stepped out of the shower, and there was a mischievous glint in his eye. Lambert stuck his hands in his pockets awkwardly as Aiden caught sight of him and grinned.

“Hey,” Lambert grunted by way of greeting as Aiden sauntered over.

“Hey,” Aiden shot back with a chuckle. “Nice to see you. I’m glad you texted me.”

Lambert shrugged. “I didn’t have any other plans.”

“So charming, too,” Aiden replied. “Is this your bike?”

“Yeah.” Lambert nodded. “I figured it was easier to just take this. Is that okay?”

“Of course. No helmets?”

“…No. Sorry.”

“Beggars can’t be choosers.” Aiden smiled. “Ready to go?”

“You good, Aiden?” The bouncer shouted over the noise that spilled out from the club. His voice was strangely accented. Lambert couldn’t quite place it.

“Everything’s fine,” Aiden called back. “Thanks, Letho.”

“Dun’ mention it. Have a good night.”

Aiden nodded and shot him a mock salute, and Letho went back to blocking the doorway and looking as threatening as possible.

Lambert raised an eyebrow. “Do I look that suspicious?”

“It’s not you,” Aiden said, shaking his head. “Let’s say there’ve been…issues in the past. He’s just trying to look out for me.”

“Can’t fault him for that, I guess.” Lambert swung his leg over the bike and started it. “Hop on.”

Aiden mounted the bike behind him and wrapped his arms securely around Lambert’s waist. Hoping that the rumble of the engine would mask how fast his heart was beating, Lambert pulled out onto the street and headed east, toward Trastamara. The place he had in mind was only a few minutes away, though that felt like an eternity with Aiden’s body pressed tightly against his and any conversation rendered impractical by the sound of the engine and the wind rushing past. He was grateful when he reached the turnoff for the alley he was looking for.

The two of them dismounted the motorcycle, and Aiden waited patiently as Lambert chained it up.

“C’mon,” he said when he was done, gesturing for Aiden to follow him. “It’s just up this way.”

The Silver Spoon was a real hidden gem. On the outside it looked like a typical greasy diner, and its location cut down on its foot traffic severely, but the food there was just about the best Lambert had ever tasted. The old lady who ran it never slept, as far as he could tell, so it was open pretty much all the time. He often ended up here late at night, when he’d just finished a job and everything else was closed.

“I know how it looks,” he said hastily, noticing Aiden eyeing the dingy storefront. “Trust me, okay? It’s good.”

Aiden shrugged. “I’m always down to try something new.”

The bell on the door jingled when Lambert pushed it open. Marlene, gaunt and hawkish as ever, was sitting at a table near the door reading a ragged paperback. Her eyes lit up when she saw him.

“Lambert!” she exclaimed, getting to her feet and walking over to peck him on the cheek. “I haven’t seen you in so long.”

“Yeah, it’s been a busy month,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry. You got a table for two?”

“Sit anywhere you like.” She smiled and bustled off to collect menus and silverware.

Lambert gestured into the restaurant. “After you.”

Aiden ended up choosing a booth, toward the back of the room. The black pleather of the seats was cracked, and Lambert was sure that the tablecloth was hiding a number of stains, but at the very least it was private. Lambert slid into the seat opposite, feeling oddly cornered.

Marlene was back a moment later with menus and water, thankfully, saving him from having to make small talk. Lambert waved off his menu, shaking his head. “You already know I’ll eat anything you put in front of me.”

“Steak au poivre, this time,” she said, with a sparkle in her eye. “And what about your friend?”

“What do you recommend?” Aiden said, setting down his own.

“My specialty tonight is ratatouille, made with vegetables from the community garden.”

“That sounds wonderful.” Aiden handed back the menu with a smile. “Thank you.”

“Will you be wanting a bottle of wine?” The question was addressed to Lambert.

He nodded. “Whatever you think is best.”

Marlene’s smile was warm and full of love. “Coming right up.”

“I’m surprised this place serves alcohol,” Aiden remarked when she was gone.

“Looks can be deceiving,” Lambert replied. “It may not seem like much, but this is the best restaurant in the city. I promise.”

“I’m already impressed,” Aiden said with a grin, holding his hands up in a placating gesture. “You don’t have to convince me.”

“Marlene’s food vouches for itself, anyway.”

“Can’t wait.” Aiden’s smile was disconcerting. Lambert couldn’t help but feel like he wasn’t the one in control of this situation.

Marlene returned a moment later with a bottle of wine and two glasses. “Rubedo—one of my favorite Shirazes,” she explained, opening it with a waiter’s corkscrew, “to pair with your meals.”

Lambert gestured for Aiden to taste the wine. He didn’t know shit about it, really, though he enjoyed it when he did drink it. All of the notes and other descriptors were pretentious mumbo jumbo to him. The only metrics he measured wine by were if he liked it or if he didn’t, and Marlene had yet to serve him a bottle he didn’t like.

Aiden nodded, humming in approval, and Marlene filled his glass the rest of the way and then Lambert’s, leaving the bottle on the table and promising that the food would be coming soon.

“I suppose it would be prudent for me to skip over the part where I ask you what you do for a living,” Aiden mused, resting his chin on his hand and looking at Lambert like he was a puzzle he was trying to solve.

“Yeah.”

“But you _are_ a merc, aren’t you?”

“Yeah.” Lambert fidgeted in his seat. “I, uh, run with the Wolves. We’re friends of your boss’s.”

“I had always wondered how he got out of paying protection money to the mob,” Aiden said, nodding. “Makes sense. And that necklace?” He nodded at the chain around Lambert’s neck.

“It’s a tag, not jewelry,” Lambert said, pulling the wolf’s head symbol out of his shirt so Aiden could see it. “Easier to remove than a tattoo.”

Aiden raised an eyebrow. “You don’t have any ink?”

“I never said that.” Lambert took a sip of his wine. It was good, as always. Marlene had him figured out better than he did himself.

“Hmm,” Aiden hummed with a pleased smile. “You’re full of surprises.”

“You don’t know the half of it.” Lambert grinned. “What do you do when you’re not at Rose’s?”

“A little bit of everything,” Aiden said with a shrug. “I read. Sometimes I paint—watercolors, mostly. Nothing particularly interesting.”

Lambert shrugged. “Painting is interesting. I’m not artistic at all.”

“Everyone is, a little,” Aiden said with a scoff. “You might be surprised.”

“I wouldn’t hold out hope.”

“We’ll see.” Aiden smiled.

Curiosity overwhelmed Lambert in the moment. “Why me?”

“Hm?”

“Of all the people at Rose’s last night—why the hell’d you choose me?”

Aiden thought it over for a moment and then shrugged. “I thought you were attractive. Does it have to be complicated?”

“I’m sure plenty of people come through that are hotter than me.”

“Yeah, but…hmm. How do I put it? You didn’t want a damn thing to do with me. You were hanging out in the back booth for at least a couple of hours and I never really saw you pay attention to any of the dancers. Let’s just say you seemed interesting.”

“I figured you didn’t make a habit of giving out your number to anyone who bought a dance.”

Aiden sipped his wine, a smile curling his lips. “No. First time.”

“So why me?”

“Because you _were_ interesting. Because you bought the dance even though you could have walked out. And because there was chemistry, in the end.” Aiden swirled the wine around in his glass. “Am I wrong?”

Lambert looked away. “You’re not wrong.”

“So I figured, what the hell?” Aiden shrugged again. “I wanted to see you again. Why not see where this goes?”

“Fair enough.”

“And you.” Aiden leaned in, a glint in his eye. “What made you decide to text me, in the end? You were rather emphatic when you left last night.”

“I dunno,” Lambert said, shaking his head. “I guess I did end up enjoying it. People aren’t usually so persistent after I tell them to fuck off. I guess…I guess I kind of liked that you didn’t listen. Didn’t hurt that you’re exactly my type, either.”

“Am I?” Aiden said with an impish grin.

“I have eyes.” Lambert took a sip of his wine. “And so do you. You already know you’re gorgeous. You don’t need me to tell you.”

“I suppose not,” Aiden said in a low voice, “but I did like hearing you say it.”

There was a beat of silence. Lambert could feel heat rising to his face, and he hoped to god that the dim lighting was enough to cover for that. What was he, a teenager?

Marlene saved him once again, returning with two plates of steaming food. Lambert’s steak, as always, looked amazing. Marlene’s execution was as perfect as her taste, and he had no doubt that it would be the best thing he’d eat all week. Aiden’s bowl looked as good as it smelled, layered as it was with concentric circles of paper-thin slices of colorful vegetables. Lambert’s stomach growled. He found himself feeling a little jealous.

“Bon appétit,” she said as she placed the dishes with a flourish, and then vanished back through the curtain that divided the dining room from the kitchen.

The conversation dwindled for a time as the two of them ate. Yet another blessing of Marlene’s cooking—Lambert had never found making small talk easy, and he’d been running out of topics. It was a welcome reprieve to sink his teeth into a perfectly seared steak au poivre and not have to think of what he was going to say next for a few minutes.

Not that he didn’t enjoy talking to Aiden; in fact, he was surprised by how _easy_ it felt. He had been half-expecting that the moment the two of them sat down the spark between them would fizzle out like a cheap cigarette, but damn if it wasn’t still there. Damn if the pull he felt toward Aiden wasn’t even stronger than it had been before. There was something about him—Lambert couldn’t put his finger on what it was, exactly, but he felt familiar. Like he’d known him for years, somehow.

Aiden pushed his scraped-clean bowl away with a satisfied sigh. “I have to hand it to you,” he said, smiling contentedly, “this probably _is_ the best food in the city. Best I’ve had in ages, definitely.”

“Marlene could cook an old boot and I’d probably eat it. Everything she makes is incredible.” Lambert dropped his knife and fork on the plate with his steak trimmings and groaned. “I always eat too much.”

Marlene breezed back through the curtain a moment later as if she’d been summoned to clear away their plates. “Will you be wanting dessert?”

“It kills me to say this, but I don’t think I can eat another bite,” Aiden said regretfully. “Next time, though—definitely.”

She nodded serenely.

“Let me get the check,” Aiden said, reaching for his wallet.

“Non, merci,” Marlene replied, waving him off. “I need no money.”

“Huh? But—”

Marlene squeezed Lambert’s shoulder and smiled. “You can explain.”

Lambert nodded. “Sure.”

Aiden cocked his head in bewilderment as Marlene swept away with their dishes. “What was that about?”

“Geralt—good friend of mine, another Wolf—helped her out of a tight spot once. Because of that, she was able to open the restaurant. She feeds us for free now as thanks.”

Aiden hummed thoughtfully. “That’s…actually really sweet. I don’t know how you stay away, though. I’d be eating every meal here if I could.”

“Believe me, I’ve been tempted. It’s probably a good thing that I don’t. I always feel like she’s trying to fatten me up.”

Aiden laughed. “Like some kind of fairytale witch.”

“Couldn’t help but notice, by the way—‘next time’?” Lambert said, raising an eyebrow.

“Next time,” Aiden repeated with a nod and a twinkle in his eye. “I like you, Lambert. I think the two of us could have a lot of fun.”

“What kind of fun?”

Aiden flashed a devilish grin. “Next time.”

✴

The drive to Aiden’s apartment was near-unbearable.

It was a ways away, across the river from Rose’s, and since Lambert didn’t know how to get there, Aiden had been giving him directions. As if the mere proximity of Aiden and the sensation of his arms wrapped around his waist weren’t enough, Aiden had pulled himself even closer so he could speak into Lambert’s ear and be heard over the sound of the engine. The warmth of his breath on Lambert’s neck was driving him crazy. It was bizarrely intimate. He had to wrestle with his imagination the entire time.

The goodbye only fanned the flames. Aiden signaled Lambert to stop in front of an older brick building. It looked like it had once been a warehouse, but since had been converted to lofts, and despite the lateness of the hour a handful of scattered windows still had lights in them.

Aiden dismounted the bike smoothly and grinned at Lambert. “Well…this is me.”

“Nice place,” Lambert said, his hand hovering over the key in the ignition.

“I’ll show you around…some other night,” Aiden replied, the tone of his voice making the implication perfectly clear.

Lambert nodded.

“Thanks for taking me out. I had fun tonight. Really.” Aiden closed the distance between them in two short strides and leaned in to kiss Lambert.

It felt right—god, it felt so right. Aiden was soft and warm, the memory of ruby red wine staining his lips, and kissing him satisfied an ache that had been steadily growing in Lambert ever since the previous night. Lambert leaned into him, craving more, his body already responding enthusiastically to Aiden’s slightest touch. Christ, when was the last time he’d wanted someone this badly? He could hardly remember.

It was over all too soon. Aiden was the one who broke the kiss, even as Lambert tried to deepen it. His piercing green eyes met Lambert’s for an instant, and there was something significant there. Damn if Lambert knew what it was, but he wanted to find out.

“Next time,” Aiden murmured, and pulled away.

Lambert stood there, still half-straddling his bike and more turned on than he’d been in weeks, and watched him until he vanished into the fluorescent wash of the building’s lobby.

✴

4 A.M. found Lambert in the shower again. He didn’t need it, really, but once he’d parked his bike and shouldered open the door to his apartment he couldn’t settle down. He’d shifted from the couch to his bed to the beat up kitchen table and finally ended up here.

He couldn’t stop thinking about Aiden. His grin, the stubble on his neck, the heat of him pressed against Lambert on the back of the bike, his breath on Lambert’s skin, the warmth of his kiss, the way it had left Lambert wanting more—

Fuck. This was the worst case of blue balls he’d had in a long time.

He hesitated at first, trying not to entertain the impulse as the water splashed over him. It felt pathetic and a little wrong to jack off to the thought of someone he’d only met yesterday.

But how would Aiden know? And shit, he needed this. His dick was so hard it _ached_ , and it had been too long since he’d indulged himself. His hand strayed lower as he talked himself into it, and by the time he realized what he was doing he was already halfway into it.

And it felt good—too good to stop once he’d started. He needed it so badly. Lambert was suddenly acutely aware of how much tension he’d been bottling up over the past couple of days. It thrummed through him as he began stroking his cock in earnest, thrusting into his fist, his forehead pressed against the cool tile of the shower wall as steaming water sprayed down over him.

He thought of Aiden. He thought of the way he tasted. He thought of the way he smelled. He imagined Aiden’s legs wrapped around his waist, his breath hot against Lambert’s neck as Lambert thrust into him. He imagined Aiden’s mouth on him, the way that his lips would look around his cock. The flush across his cheeks. The scratch of the stubble on his neck. The sounds he might make. How it would feel when he came, shaking, around Lambert’s cock—

That thought sent him over the edge. Lambert shuddered and grunted as he came, stroking himself roughly, his thoughts dissolving into nothingness as the waves of his orgasm washed them away.

He came back to himself several minutes later, overheated and a little ashamed of himself, and reached for the body wash. The bathroom was so dense with steam by the time he’d finished that he could hardly see in front of his face. He pulled on the first clean pair of underpants he found in the drawer and collapsed onto his bed, sleep already weighing heavily on his brain, as the first rays of dawn began to break on the horizon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This AU is so much fucking fun to work on. I hope you guys are enjoying it so far! It's gearing up to be a long one.


	3. Liminal Spaces

Lambert awoke at two in the afternoon to blinding rays of sunlight streaming in through his bedroom window.

He groaned, rolling over and pulling the covers over his head in an attempt to return to sleep. After a few minutes of staring foggily at the opposite wall, he groped blindly for his phone on the bedside table and sat up in bed as he scrolled through his notifications.

There wasn’t much. One missed call from an unknown number, two messages from Eskel that he didn’t bother reading—he’d deal with those once he’d had some coffee—and one text from Aiden. Lambert’s heart thudded uncomfortably in his chest as he opened it. Jesus, what was wrong with him? He hadn’t even been this nervous in high school.

**[10:31] Aiden (Rose’s):** Morning, handsome. I had fun last night. Thanks for taking me out.

**[14:07] Lambert:** Yeah, me too  
**[14:10] Aiden (Rose’s):** Just waking up? You must not have slept well.  
**[14:11] Lambert:** I was up late

Lambert paused, his thumb hovering above the screen, groaning internally at himself before biting the bullet and sending the message.

**[14:13] Lambert:** Thinking about you

**[14:15] Aiden (Rose’s):** Oh, is that so? Glad to hear I made an impression ;)  
** [14:15] Aiden (Rose’s):** I’d love to see you again…

Lambert let that message hang in the void for a moment. He wasn’t exactly the romantic type—or, at least, not a dinner-and-a-movie kind of guy. There weren’t a lot of things that came to mind as far as date ideas. It didn’t seem like they’d known each other long enough to just invite Aiden over to his place, and who knew how that invitation would be interpreted, anyway.

Eskel ended up saving him, as he finally thumbed through the texts he’d ignored when he woke up while he waited for his coffee to drip through the cheap paper filter.

**[09:46] Eskel:** you done sulking yet?  
**[09:50] Eskel:** party at our place tonight. should be pretty small. come over if you feel like it

**[14:19] Lambert:** Sure

**[14:22] Lambert:** Can I bring someone?  
**[14:24] Eskel:** this the mystery guy from rose’s?

Lambert rolled his eyes.

**[14:25] Lambert:** Maybe. Don’t fucking judge me  
**[14:26] Eskel:** chill out, lambert. bring whoever you want, just leave the attitude at home.  
**[14:28] Lambert:** Noted. See you later

He hesitated before messaging Aiden again. Was tonight too soon? It had barely been twelve hours since he last saw Aiden. Wouldn’t this look kind of desperate?

Hell with it. It wasn’t like he had anything else going on.

**[14:30] Lambert:** Friend of mine is having a thing tonight. You wanna go?  
**[14:31] Aiden (Rose’s):** One of your merc buddies?  
**[14:31] Lambert:** Yeah  
**[14:32] Lambert:** Probably seen him before, he’s at Rose’s with me sometimes. Deep voice, lotta scars?  
**[14:34] Aiden (Rose’s):** Hangs out with the guy who bleaches his hair?  
**[14:34] Lambert:** It’s not bleached. Hard to explain  
**[14:34] Lambert:** But yeah that’s him  
**[14:36] Aiden (Rose’s):** Sure, sounds fun. Just lmk when and where.  
**[14:37] Lambert:** I can pick you up if you want  
**[14:38] Aiden (Rose’s):** Why not. You remember where?  
**[14:40] Lambert:** I can find my way back. See you around 11?  
**[14:41] Aiden (Rose’s):** Looking forward to it ;)

So that was that, then. He was going to see Aiden again tonight. He did his best to stomp out the little thrill of excitement in his gut at the prospect. He’d only just met the guy. It was way too early to be putting so much into this. He’d been burned before, after all. Better to play it safe and take it slow.

Not that he’d been so successful at taking it slow so far. He grimaced and dropped the phone on the table.

Now that that was done, he was left with a few hours to kill and not much to fill them. He glanced around his apartment with a groan, realizing that it was getting to be a wreck. The stench of the garbage in the kitchen was beginning to border on unbearable, and he had more than a few mounds of clothes scattered around. Probably better to deal with that now, as much as he would’ve liked to fall back into bed and sleep until it was time to leave.

Lambert crammed the trash bags down the chute in the hallway and pitched an armful of dirty clothes into his laundry basket, along with a packet of detergent and a sandwich bag of quarters. The trudge down to the basement wasn’t exactly pleasant—it was a tight fit in the stairwell with the stuff he was carrying, and the light was out at the bottom landing, but he managed. He dumped the clothes in, fed the machine a handful of quarters, and once it had locked and started spinning headed back upstairs to his apartment.

He didn’t quite make it there. He was accosted on the ground floor landing by an older woman with piercing green eyes and a cast-iron grip.

“Did you think you could avoid me forever?”

The fight went out of Lambert in an instant. “Hey, Nana.”

Despite her insistence on the nickname, Nenneke wasn’t Lambert’s grandmother, or even his relative. She _was_ his landlord, though, and over the years she’d adopted him by force. She looked relatively harmless, with her wisps of grey hair, her round cheeks, and the patterned scarf she wore wrapped around her head that was strongly reminiscent of the wimple she’d worn when she used to be a nun. She’d left that life behind in the sixties, though, and some of the shit she’d been up to since then was serious enough to put the fear of god in a guy like Lambert. 

She’d been arrested more times than he could count—usually during a protest, though the weed growing in hand-painted pots on the fire escape probably didn’t help her case—and he’d even bailed her out once or twice. She wasn’t the kind of person you fucked around with. Lambert was pretty sure she could kick his ass if she really wanted to. It was a blessing that he’d somehow managed to get on her good side.

Nenneke looked him up and down and sighed. “You’re skin and bones. Have you eaten anything today?”

“Some coffee.”

She shook her head in disapproval. “Come on in. I’m making dumplings.”

Not that Lambert had any choice in the matter. She practically dragged him into her apartment, motioning for him to drop his basket on the couch and take a seat at the rickety kitchen table. The whole place smelled of frying potatoes and onions and cheese, and Lambert’s stomach growled as the legs of his chair scraped across the linoleum.

“Coffee?” Nenneke said, raising an eyebrow as she opened the cupboard above the stove.

Lambert nodded.

The beans Nenneke had were miles better than the instant coffee powder Lambert kept in his kitchen. She dumped fresh grounds into a beat-up silver moka pot, filled the bottom with water, and set it on a gas burner next to a large pot of boiling water.

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen you,” she remarked as she dropped plump dumplings into the pot one by one. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were hiding from me.”

“Just been busy,” Lambert said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ve been getting in late most nights. Lots of jobs right now.”

“You’ve been getting yourself into trouble,” she shot back with a mischievous grin.

“No more than usual.”

“Of course,” she said, pulling the moka pot off the burner and pouring out a small cup of coffee that was blacker than sin. “Sugar?”

Lambert shook his head. She deposited the cup in front of him and went back to prodding at the dumplings.

“And does ‘trouble’ have a name?” There was a glint in her eye that Lambert didn’t like. He never could hide anything from her.

“Who says it’s a guy?”

“You. Just now.” She grinned.

Lambert groaned and knocked back half of his coffee in a single gulp. It burned going down. “…Aiden.”

Nenneke hummed thoughtfully. “Aiden. I like him.”

“You haven’t even met him yet. Hell, _I_ barely know him.”

“No, but he’s already got you blushing,” she teased, pointing a bony finger in Lambert’s direction and laughing when he averted his gaze. “You’ve always been such a serious kid. It’d do you some good to run around with someone who can lighten you up a bit.”

“Yeah, we’ll see,” Lambert grumbled as Nenneke fished the dumplings one by one out of the pot and dropped a steaming plate on the table in front of him. “Only just met him a couple days ago.”

“But he’s already under your skin, isn’t he?” She said serenely as she took the seat opposite him. “You were never this cagey about your girlfriend—what was her name? The blonde one?”

“Keira. She wasn’t my girlfriend. And we still hang out.”

“Is that what the kids are calling it these days?” She smirked.

“Fuck off,” Lambert mumbled around the dumpling he’d just crammed into his mouth.

Nenneke flicked his forearm. “Language, young man.”

“Like you care,” he said, swallowing. “This is good.”

She smiled. “Traditional Polish recipe. I got it from an old flame…”

“Which one?” Lambert shot back.

_“You_ fuck off.” She laughed. “You’re certainly not in a position to judge.”

Lambert snorted. “Guess not.”

He worked his way steadily through the plate of dumplings, savoring every bite. He felt much more grounded by the time he was done. Spending time with Nenneke was like that; he was never sure if it was her cooking or her company, but he always felt like he had his head on straighter when he left her apartment.

“I’d wager your clothes are just about done,” Nenneke said as she cleared away the plates. “Why don’t you head back down and check on them?”

“You sure you don’t want me to help you wash up?”

“Please,” she scoffed. “I can manage. I may be old, but I’m not decrepit.”

“Thanks, then.” Lambert gathered up his laundry basket and headed for the door. “I’m going out later, you need me to grab you anything?”

She grinned back at him as she dumped the dishes into the sink with a clatter. “I’ll be fine. You just have fun.”

✴

Lambert found his way back to Aiden’s apartment much more easily than he’d thought he would. It was weird—he hadn’t gone out of his way to memorize the route, but it felt like his bike knew the way.

He could see Aiden in one of the top floor windows when he pulled up. Aiden waved and then vanished, and the light clicked off a moment later. When he emerged from the building, he was holding a crumpled paper bag.

“Booze,” he explained, brandishing it. “Thought I shouldn’t come empty-handed.”

“It’ll definitely win you points with the guys.” Lambert grinned and nodded toward the back of the bike. “Hop on.”

Aiden riding behind him wasn’t as comfortable as it had been before, with the liquor bottle wedged uncomfortably between them, but it still drove Lambert to distraction. He wished he hadn’t indulged his fantasies the previous night. It had only fanned the flames, and now, when Aiden was so close and so attainable, they threatened to consume him.

Geralt and Eskel’s apartment, thankfully, wasn’t far. The two of them lived in one of the bigger buildings on the edge of downtown. It was nicer than Lambert’s tiny walk-up, but it also didn’t have a lot of character. The place was pretty cookie-cutter: dingy lobby, slow elevator, and fifteen floors of near-identical hallways that led to near-identical apartments.

What it lacked in charm, it made up for in location, though. There wasn’t a single window in the place that didn’t have a fabulous view of the city. Geralt and Eskel’s living room window faced out over the river, and most nights you could watch the cars go by on the bridge below.

“Damn,” Aiden remarked as the two of them walked into the apartment. “Wasn’t expecting that.”

“It _is_ pretty great,” Lambert admitted. “You should see my place…”

Aiden laughed. “Maybe later.”

That thought was enough to make Lambert’s knees weak. He shoved it forcibly to the back of his head and sat on it until it stopped struggling. Not now. They’d only just gotten here.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” Eskel called over the thump of the music and ambient chatter, waving them into the kitchen. “Glad you showed up.”

“Hey,” Lambert said with a nod. “This is Aiden.”

“Think I’ve seen you around.” Eskel grinned, holding out his hand. “I’m Eskel. Nice t’ meet you.”

Aiden shook it. “Likewise.” He held up the paper bag. “I brought you some liquor.”

“You’re gonna fit in great.” Eskel laughed and pulled out the bottle, nodding approvingly. “This is Geralt’s favorite. Think I saw him on the couch a few minutes ago.”

“We’ll catch up with him in a bit,” Lambert replied, turning to Aiden. “Buy you a drink?”

“Help yourself.” Eskel clapped Lambert on the shoulder and wandered off.

Lambert grabbed each of them a beer and headed toward the living room. “C’mon, I’ll introduce you.”

The rest of the apartment was already crammed with people. It wasn’t exactly the small get-together Eskel had pitched earlier—apparently word had spread, and almost everyone they knew had turned up. There were a lot of familiar faces in the crowd, but also a fair few Lambert didn’t recognize. Probably friends of friends, or just people from the building who’d heard the noise and wanted a free drink.

Geralt was exactly where Eskel said he’d be, sprawled out on the couch with his feet up on the coffee table and Yennefer sitting on his lap, already drunk from the look of things. Shani sat perched on the opposite arm, laughing at something Geralt had just said and sipping from a plastic cup full of amber liquor. Her eyes lit up at the sight of Lambert, and she hopped up to hug him.

“Where have you been? I haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Sorry. Been busy,” Lambert shouted over the beat of the music. “How’s school?”

“Not bad. I’ll be done with residency soon. I have some interviews coming up next month.”

“Anything good?”

“I’m hoping for a fellowship in the ER at St. Lebioda’s, but I’ll bore you with that another time,” she said with a grin. “Who’s your friend?”

“Shit, sorry.” Lambert turned to Aiden. “Aiden, this is Shani—Eskel’s girlfriend, she’s a doctor. The dude with the white hair is Geralt, you’ve probably seen him around. And this is Yen, Geralt’s girlfriend.”

“Hey,” Geralt said with a clumsy wave. His face was flushed with alcohol, and from the way he was slurring Lambert doubted he’d remember anything about tonight in the morning. He’d probably have to make that introduction again another time.

The party was just a party—if Lambert had been to one, he’d been to a thousand. The music was too loud, the drinks were warm, someone was smoking weed in the hallway and the smell combined with the oppressive heat of too many people crammed into a small space was almost sickening, and the line for the single bathroom was so long that it spilled out the front door.

Lambert made what introductions he could to the people he recognized. He declined an invitation to play beer pong that Aiden enthusiastically accepted in his stead and won in about ten shots. He held up one of his remaining solo cups in salute to Eskel when he’d finished and downed it in solidarity.

“Now what?” Lambert asked, raising an eyebrow, as Aiden moved aside so the next duo could use the table. “Want another drink?”

“I’m good for now, but thanks.” Aiden stretched. “I wonder—”

From the next room came the distinct sound of something shattering, and everyone went quiet.

Lambert winced. “You wanna go out on the balcony?”

“…Yeah. That sounds good.”

The two of them slipped outside unnoticed as the party gradually began to gather momentum once more and Geralt dragged himself off the couch to go find out what had ended up broken.

The night air was blessedly cool, and the sky was still threatening rain despite yesterday’s downpour. Lambert could smell it on the breeze, bitter and damp, with the sharp sweetness of ozone behind it. They’d be lucky to make it home before it stormed. For once, he found himself wishing he carried a helmet.

Geralt and Eskel weren’t decorators. There were a couple of chairs and a plastic cooler on the balcony, and that was about it. It was good enough for Lambert and Aiden’s purposes, though. Lambert settled in, putting his feet up on the cooler, and Aiden did the same.

“Wish I had a cigarette,” Aiden lamented, and Lambert raised an eyebrow.

“You smoke?”

“Not often. It’s just nice every now and then. Usually at a party, like this one.”

“Huh. Didn’t take you for a smoker.”

“Honestly, I figured _you_ were. You just seemed like the type.”

Lambert shook his head. “My dad was. He died about five years back—lung cancer. Kind of killed any enthusiasm I might’ve had for cigarettes.”

“I’m sorry,” Aiden said, grimacing. “I’ve really put my foot in my mouth, haven’t I?”

Lambert waved him off. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

There was a beat of silence.

“Listen,” Aiden said, sobering, “I really appreciate you bringing me here. And taking me out last night. A fair few of the guys I’ve dated weren’t too keen on introducing me to their friends.”

“They sound like assholes.” Not that Lambert wasn’t an asshole, but…well. “Not quite the same, but not everyone I’ve been with has been thrilled about what I do for a living, either.”

“Sucks, doesn’t it?”

Lambert shrugged. “It is what it is.”

“Mm.”

Time felt slower out here. On the other side of the sliding glass door, the party was still going strong. The thump of the music carried through, but it faded away into nothing in the chill night air. Every now and then there was some indistinct shouting from inside, or a siren wailing on the streets below, but neither felt quite tangible to Lambert’s mind.

He had no idea how long they’d been sitting in silence before Aiden finally broke it—not with words, but by reaching out across the void between them and taking Lambert’s hand. The simplicity of the gesture caught him off guard. There was no expectation behind it. Aiden sat, just as serenely as he had before, looking out over the river and taking in the lights of the city as it moved beneath them.

Lambert took it in for a moment: the warmth of his hand, the tenderness of the gesture, the solidity of it, which anchored him. Half the time he’d spent with Aiden up until now had felt like a dream, but this—this was real. He was certain of it.

“Listen, I…”

He trailed off when Aiden turned to look at him, green eyes soft, a faint smile on his lips.

He swallowed and tried again. “I…”

The space between them slowly evaporated. Lambert was transfixed, unable to finish his thought for fear of breaking the spell.

Aiden’s lips brushed softly against his, and his heart squeezed tightly in his chest. Lambert leaned into it, drinking in his warmth, the taste of him, the soft prickle of his beard. The faint wrinkle of his brow as he closed his eyes, sighing against Lambert’s skin. It was everything he’d been wanting, and simultaneously not enough. The little taste he’d gotten had done nothing to satisfy the fire that had been steadily growing in his core since their paths had first crossed.

Aiden reached out first, his fingers threading into Lambert’s hair, deepening the kiss as they melted into each other. Lambert failed to suppress a groan at the gentle way Aiden tugged at the roots. He wanted more. He wanted to taste every part of him, compare it pound for pound to find out all the ways the real thing outstripped his fantasies. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d wanted someone this much.

A single fat droplet of rain fell, splattering on his forehead, and they pulled apart, breathless and flushed. Lambert looked skyward, and another landed on him moments later. He wiped the water away with the back of his hand.

“It’s going to be pouring in a minute, isn’t it?” Aiden said, frowning.

Lambert nodded, finding himself distinctly incapable of forming a sentence.

“You want to get out of here?”

Lambert nodded again.

The two of them slipped out of the party unnoticed. Whatever had shattered in the other room had already been cleaned up, and if it were possible it seemed like there were even more people packed into the apartment than there had been twenty minutes ago. It was probably a good thing they were leaving now. It would only be a matter of time before the cops got called at this rate.

It did start to rain in earnest as the two of them raced through streets that shone with reflected neon and the iridescent sheen of oil on the back of Lambert’s bike, over the river that roiled beneath the bridge like a sea of sloshing ink. The storm was gearing up to be a bad one. Both of them were soaked by the time Lambert pulled up outside Aiden’s building, balancing the bike so Aiden could get off.

“Sorry,” he said, grimacing, as if there were anything he could have done about the weather.

Aiden laughed, his damp curls plastered against his head, and leaned in to kiss him. “Don’t be. I had fun.”

He glanced up at the building and then back at Lambert, sitting on top of his idling motorcycle. A gust of wind kicked up, catching a newspaper from the nearby bus stop and sending it tumbling down the street.

“Do you want to come in?”

“I mean.” Lambert shrugged, but his heart was in his throat. “I won’t say no, but is that alright with you?”

Aiden grinned. “Yeah, it is. C’mon, I’ll show you where you can park your bike.”

Aiden led him around the back of the building, unlocking one of several garage doors and hefting it upward. Lambert walked the bike inside and parked it.

“Do I need to chain it to something?” he asked, looking around at the stacks of cardboard boxes and loose tools scattered around. The husk of an old muscle car loomed in the shadows, its hood up and engine missing.

Aiden shook his head. “This storage unit is mine. No one’s going to touch it.”

Lambert nodded and stuffed his keys in his pocket.

“No way in from here, unfortunately,” Aiden said apologetically. “We’re going to have to get a bit wet. Sorry.”

Lambert shrugged. What was a little more rainwater? He was already soaked to the skin.

It was a mad dash through the growing storm to the building’s lobby, where the man at the front desk eyed them disapprovingly as their clothes dripped steadily onto the tile floor.

“Sorry about the mess, B.B.,” Aiden said while they waited for the elevator. “I’ll buy you coffee tomorrow.”

The elevator had clearly been designed for freight, and its walls were made of wire mesh. Lambert could see down the shaft if he looked closely, and he didn’t know how he felt about that. It was disconcerting.

Aiden’s apartment was on the top floor, and Lambert’s jaw dropped when Aiden unlocked the door and let him in. The space was huge and open, with tall leaded glass windows running the length of the front wall. A series of floating stairs led up to a loft above, and tucked into the space beneath it was a well-stocked kitchen. Most of the furniture was mismatched, but it all seemed to go together somehow. The exposed brick walls were heavily hung with paintings done in watercolors and inks.

“God damn,” Lambert said, shrugging out of his jacket.

“What is it?”

“I’m reconsidering my choice of career.”

Aiden laughed. “The rent is less than you think, I swear. You can leave your boots here if you want.”

Lambert kicked them off, struggling with the cuffs of his sodden jeans. He was still dripping when he straightened up, frowning. “Pretty sure I’m still going to get your floor wet, even without those. Sorry.”

“It’s fine. You can use my dryer.”

“Thanks.”

Lambert stood awkwardly for a moment, the silence punctuated by drops of water dripping onto the floor. He swallowed. “So—”

Aiden leaned in and kissed him, effectively shutting him up. Lambert stiffened at first, caught off-guard by the suddenness of Aiden pressed against him, but readily surrendered to it once he processed what was happening. Aiden’s lips were warm, despite the rain, and even though he was soaked to the skin, the faint scent of his cologne was still unmistakably there when Lambert reached out to pull him closer. They were a mess, the two of them—hands fisted in sodden fabric, hair damp and disheveled, looking like a pair of drowned rats that had snuck in under the door.

It had been a while since Lambert had hooked up with someone he actually liked. Most of his dubious conquests were random finds on dating apps, or drunken mistakes like Merigold. Beneath the steady roar of desire for Aiden that had been building in him since they first crossed paths, there was also an undercurrent of fear of messing this up. He usually did mess things up, one way or another. Random flings were about as satisfying as a gas station burrito, but at least there was nothing there to worry about maintaining.

Aiden nipped at Lambert’s lower lip, and he shivered—both in anticipation and from the cold.

“Do you want to maybe go upstairs?” Aiden suggested, pulling away. “We can get out of our wet clothes.”

That was the best idea Lambert had heard in weeks. He nodded and trailed Aiden up the staircase to the lofted bedroom above, which was simply decorated compared to the rest of the space. The duvet on the bed was dyed in blocks of grey and navy, and on the single nightstand was a globe-shaped lamp that reminded Lambert of the moon. The rest of the loft was empty, save for a small chair opposite the bed, the tail of a phone charger peeking out behind the nightstand, and a door that presumably led to a bathroom. Above, the rain beat down against a large skylight.

Aiden didn’t waste any time in unbuttoning his own soaked shirt, which was clinging to his chest in an appealing way, and draping it over the metal railing. Lambert hesitated, unsure if he should follow suit.

Aiden chuckled, walking over to him, looking like a damp Adonis in the soft golden light, and tugged at the hem of Lambert’s shirt. Lambert raised his arms and let him pull it over his head, tossing it aside. When their lips met, the slow-burning coals in Lambert’s core ripped into open flame, fed by the proximity of Aiden and the sweet sensation of his skin against Lambert’s own. Aiden’s hands traced from Lambert’s wolf’s-head medallion down his chest, fingertips skipping over scars Lambert had half-forgotten by now, and came to rest at the button of his jeans.

“Is this okay?” Aiden murmured against Lambert’s lips, and Lambert nodded wordlessly.

God, his touch, his warmth. Everything Lambert had fantasized about last night in the shower was painfully present at the front of his mind as Aiden undid his zipper and slipped a hand past Lambert’s waistband to palm his cock through his underwear. He could feel Aiden’s, too, pressing hard against his hip, and that only made things worse. Lambert wanted to taste him, to touch him. Every layer of clothing that still separated them at this point had personally provoked his ire.

Lambert fumbled with his jeans, trying and failing to shuck them off as the denim clung stubbornly to his skin. He swore under his breath. “Hang on—give me a minute.”

“Whatever you need.” Aiden stretched like a cat, taking the opportunity to undo his own zipper and hang his pants up to dry. His back was to Lambert as he did so, and Lambert realized suddenly that he was tattooed. An enormous mountain lion prowled his shoulders, inked in neat geometric shapes. It almost looked as if it were alive, somehow.

“I didn’t notice that the other night.”

Aiden looked over his shoulder, grinning. “Then I’d say you were sufficiently distracted.”

Lambert made a noncommittal noise.

“I just remembered,” Aiden mused, “you mentioned you had ink. Where are you hiding it?”

Lambert grimaced.

“Oh, and there’s a story. All the better.” Aiden sat on the edge of the bed, chin resting in his hand, looking up at Lambert intently.

“Fuck.” Lambert pinched the bridge of his nose. “Okay, listen. I’m not proud of this, but…you know the Blue Stripes Commandos? We run in the same circles. And I kind of went out drinking with some of them one night, had a few too many…you can probably fill in the rest yourself.”

“It’s on your ass, isn’t it?” Aiden’s grin couldn’t have gotten any wider.

Lambert grimaced again.

“Well now I _have_ to see it.”

Lambert groaned. “It’s bad. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Aiden waited expectantly.

Lambert turned around and dropped his underwear.

“I mean, it’s not _that_ bad…” Aiden’s voice shook with suppressed laughter.

It absolutely was. The crudely-done piece, which Ves had insisted was Blue Stripes tradition, sat just over his left ass cheek. The bulk of it was a naked woman, wielding a short sword and holding a shield with three lilies on it. There was an amorphous blob beneath her that was supposed to be a skull, but Lambert suspected the tattoo artist had been as drunk as he was by the time he’d gotten to that part.

“It’s fine, you can laugh,” Lambert said, flopping onto the bed beside Aiden. “Someone should.”

“I mean, look at it this way. At least it has more meaning behind it than a twenty-dollar piece of random flash.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Lambert groaned.

Aiden laughed again, leaning in to kiss him, and Lambert could feel his smile when their lips met. One kiss was all it took to stoke the fire once more, and Lambert’s cock throbbed insistently between his thighs as Aiden’s tongue swirled over his. Feeling bold, he reached for Aiden’s hand and shoved it down toward his cock, desperate for friction. Aiden chuckled and obliged him, taking Lambert in hand and stroking firmly as Lambert sucked air through his teeth and groaned.

It was a start, but it wasn’t anywhere near enough. He wanted to touch Aiden, too. Wanted to taste him. It didn’t seem quite fair that he was the only one naked in this scenario, after all. Lambert reached for Aiden, fingers tugging at the elastic of his boxer-briefs, and slipped his hand into them to palm his cock.

Aiden was just as hard as he was, and that coupled with the breathless sound he made sent a wave of heat through Lambert’s body.

“Fuck,” Lambert breathed, feeling Aiden’s hand squeeze on his cock as he started stroking. “You’re so hot…”

Aiden responded enthusiastically, kissing Lambert harder as he worked to shimmy his underwear down his thighs, thrusting into Lambert’s fist. He pulled back, panting, an undeniable hunger in his eyes. “I want you.”

“Yeah?” Lambert grinned. “Do you…uh—”

“Yeah.”

Aiden sat up and reached for the bedside table, and Lambert acutely felt the loss of the warmth of his hand. If it weren’t for the promise of more to come he would have had a hard time coping. He slicked his damp hair back from his forehead and sighed.

Aiden straightened up, holding a condom and a small purple bottle of lube. Lambert reached for them reflexively and Aiden stopped, cocking his head. Their eyes met for an instant and then Aiden fell back against the pillows, laughing.

“You really think you’re topping in this scenario?”

Lambert swallowed, his ears burning. “Uh. I mean.”

“Please tell me you’re not one of those guys who never bottoms. You didn’t strike me as the type.”

Lambert shook his head. He definitely wasn’t. He bottomed, and lord knew Keira had pegged him plenty of times, but he didn’t do it often with a new person. It was tough to be that vulnerable with someone he didn’t quite trust yet. Not that he didn’t trust Aiden, but—

“…You know I’m just teasing you, right?” Aiden touched his thigh. The grin had fallen from his face, replaced by concern. “We won’t do anything if you’re not comfortable with it.”

Lambert swallowed. “No, I…”

He looked at Aiden, sprawled out and fully nude in front of him, cock hard and straining, face tinged crimson. The thought of being fucked by him wasn’t unappealing—not by a long shot. He just hadn’t entertained the possibility before now. He sank into the fantasy for a moment, imagining Aiden thrusting into him, the sounds he might make, his hands on Lambert’s hips, and a thrill of anticipation shot through him. He made a fist against his thigh and released it.

“I’m down for it. Let’s do it.”

“Are you certain that’s what you want?”

Lambert nodded. “Yeah.”

Aiden leaned in, reaching out to cup Lambert’s face, and kissed him softly, passionately. In a way that left him desperately craving more. They shifted in the low light, Aiden carefully maneuvering so that he was straddling one of Lambert’s thighs, without breaking the kiss. When Aiden did finally pull away, it was to open the bottle of lube and squirt a small amount onto his fingers.

His mouth was back a moment later, quickly followed by his cool, slick fingers tracing the ring of Lambert’s ass. Lambert groaned deep in his throat as Aiden slowly pushed one inside, mirroring the gesture with his tongue in Lambert’s mouth.

Aiden’s touch was gentle, but firm. He took things slowly, which was something Lambert would normally have appreciated, but the addition of a second finger only served to frustrate him more because there was no way it could have filled him up the same way Aiden’s cock would. And that, he was realizing, was what he really needed. He stroked himself slowly as Aiden fingered him, but it gave him no relief. He needed his touch. Needed his friction, his heat, his weight, his pleasure.

“Please,” Lambert said through gritted teeth, and the word pained him greatly. “I want…”

Aiden’s fingers were gone a second later. Aiden tore the condom wrapper with his teeth and rolled it on, squirting more lube onto his fingertips and applying that as well. He knelt between Lambert’s legs, smoothing his palms up his inner thighs, looking at him like he thought he was something beautiful. Lambert couldn’t imagine why.

“I like you like this,” Aiden said approvingly, bending down to nip at Lambert’s thigh.

Lambert swallowed. “Like what?”

“Messy.” Aiden grinned. “Wet and disheveled and red. It’s nice.”

_It’s embarrassing, is what it is,_ Lambert thought to himself, but didn’t say anything out loud. He would have done just about anything in that moment if it would have gotten Aiden to _just fuck him already._

His impatience must have been evident in his expression, because Aiden relented. The blunt press of his sheathed cock against Lambert’s ass drew a moan from his throat, and Lambert felt his face flush hotter, if that were even possible, as Aiden slowly thrust into him.

This was hardly the first time Lambert had ever been fucked, but somehow it felt so much more intimate than it usually did. He had a hard time coping with the fullness of Aiden’s cock inside him when it was coupled with the overwhelming sensation of crossing a line he didn’t usually cross. It felt like a promise. It felt like commitment. It felt like he was going to wake up in this bed tomorrow morning, and they were going to have breakfast together. Lambert didn’t usually get entangled in breakfast-variety relationships. He wasn’t sure if the thought thrilled or terrified him.

Aiden was nothing if not passionate. There was no part of Lambert his eyes hadn’t drunk in. There was nowhere his hands didn’t roam as he slowly built momentum, fucking Lambert in long, slow thrusts, staring at him with eyes like shadowed emeralds that seemed to see right through him. His fingertips lingered on scars that Lambert was sure he’d have to explain tomorrow morning. His palm gripped the back of Lambert’s neck as he bent down to kiss him hard, sucking on his lip, his other hand fisted in the bedsheets. Eventually he straightened, sitting on his heels, leveraging Lambert close with one hand on his hip and reaching for his cock with the other.

Lambert swallowed a groan when Aiden began to stroke him in time with his thrusts, reaching out blindly for something to anchor himself. He found it in Aiden’s thighs and held on for dear life, incapable of articulating anything in the moment save for the small grunts of pleasure that forced their way up his throat. None of his past partners had been like this. The way Aiden was touching him, the way Aiden was fucking him—it was like he cared more about Lambert’s pleasure than his own. There was a loss of autonomy there, but Lambert found that he cared less and less by the minute.

“Harder,” he managed, holding on tight to the ball of pleasure that prickled in his core, threatening to uncoil at any moment.

Aiden obliged, his jaw set in a hard line as he thrust into Lambert, using his grip on his flank for leverage. He was shaking, Lambert realized suddenly, and every bit as red and sweaty as he was. He’d been so focused on himself he hadn’t realized Aiden was already so far gone.

The sight of him bent over Lambert, so close to coming undone, sent a wave of pleasure surging down his spine. He groaned through gritted teeth, his hands fisting uselessly against Aiden’s thighs, unable to do anything but hold on and wait for it to crash over him.

“Are you close—?” Aiden choked out, and Lambert nodded.

Fuck, he was. Three more thrusts and he’d probably be over the edge, and from the look of things Aiden would be too. Lambert surrendered to it and let Aiden’s steady stroking carry him inexorably toward the point of no return, which came abruptly when he felt the rhythm of Aiden’s thrusts begin to stutter as he succumbed as well. He came with a choked gasp, shuddering and spilling down Aiden’s fingers, as Aiden thrust arrhythmically into him.

Lambert lay in a daze of rumpled duvet and thudding pulse, slowly coming back to himself as Aiden panted for air on top of him. He groaned when Aiden finally pulled out and bent down to kiss him one last time, impossibly gentle and warm.

Aiden sat on the edge of the bed and dealt with the condom. “There’s a bathroom there,” he said, nodding at the closed door to the right of the bed, “if you want first dibs.”

“Fuck. Yes. Thanks.”

Lambert got shakily to his feet and went to clean himself up, still fighting to get his heartbeat under control. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d come this hard. He glanced at himself in the mirror, sweaty and rain-damp and flushed, and sighed.

He was way in over his head.

The worst of the mess dealt with, he stumbled back to the bed and fell into it while Aiden took his turn. Despite the general stickiness, the sheets felt good against his skin. He was already well on his way to passing out when Aiden returned and flopped down beside him.

It had been a good long while since Lambert had slept with another person, too, or at least someone who wasn’t Keira. She was always pretty clear from the get-go as to whether she wanted to be held or not, which eliminated a lot of the guesswork on his end. He wasn’t really sure what he was supposed to do here. Roll over and fall asleep? Offer to plug Aiden’s phone in?

Aiden mercifully helped him out there, too, as he slid over toward the side of the bed Lambert was sleeping on. “Can I…?”

Lambert nodded and held out an arm, and Aiden settled in against his chest. The weight of him was solid, reassuring. A welcome comfort after a _long_ day.

As the fog of sleep rose up to overtake Lambert, he wondered vaguely if he might feel it in his dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God, this chapter really took on a life of its own. I think I started writing it right at the beginning of quarantine in March and didn't get it finished until June or July. All the same--I've really fallen in love with these characters in this setting and I hope you enjoy them, too.  
> (I definitely didn't basically give Aiden the apartment from _Ghost._ Nope, definitely not.)


	4. Morning Grind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta read by the indefatigable [bookscorpion!](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookscorpion)

The morning didn’t bring an end to the rain, but it did ease it somewhat. By the time Lambert dragged himself out of bed, rubbing his eyes blearily, the sun was attempting to shine through the thinning layer of clouds overhead.

The scent of coffee brewing permeated the apartment. Lambert glanced around for his clothes, but they were gone from the railing. There was a pair of flannel pajama pants though, folded neatly on the nightstand, which seemed to have been left there for him. He pulled them on and stretched, yawning, before heading downstairs.

Aiden’s apartment looked different in the light of day. The view from the windows was really something else—Geralt and Eskel might have had a great view of the river from their place, but Aiden’s looked out over the port, and Lambert could see the ships being loaded in the distance. The rain pattered lightly against the glass, and the droplets caught what little morning sun was managing to shine, casting tiny rainbows on the floor.

“Good morning,” Aiden’s voice said from behind him, and Lambert turned to see him standing in the kitchen.

“Morning,” Lambert said hoarsely.

“Coffee?”

“Yeah. Please.”

Lambert took the patterned mug gratefully, declining Aiden’s offer of milk or sugar, and drained half of it in one gulp. It burnt his tongue, but that didn’t matter. He desperately needed the caffeine after the night he’d had.

“How’d you sleep?” Aiden asked, a faint smile on his lips.

Better than he had in weeks, if Lambert was being honest with himself. He was sore in places he’d forgotten he had. He nodded, taking another sip of his coffee. “It was good, thanks.”

“How do you like your eggs?”

Lambert shrugged. “I don’t really care. Scrambled is fine.”

“Scrambled it is. Coming right up.” Aiden took down a frying pan from a hook on the wall and set it on the stove top. The burner clicked as he turned the dial and a pale blue flame blossomed to life. “You could probably grab a shower, if you’re quick.”

Lambert shook his head. “I’ll be soaked again by the time I get home anyway. It’s no big deal.”

“If you’re sure.”

Aiden dropped a pat of butter into the pan, and it began to bubble up and sizzle immediately. Lambert’s stomach growled at the smell. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was. Come to think of it, he didn’t think he’d eaten anything since Nenneke’s dumplings yesterday. It was a wonder he’d made it this long.

He leaned against the island, nursing his coffee as it slowly cooled, watching the butter slide around the pan as it melted. Aiden turned to collect some ingredients from the fridge, and memories of the previous night swelled in Lambert’s head as he bent to pick up something off a low shelf. The mountain lion on Aiden’s back moved as the muscles stretched and pulled underneath.

Lambert swallowed.

Last night…what the hell had gotten into him last night? One glance from Aiden and all of his usual preferences had flown out the window, along with his common sense. It wasn’t like him to just let someone dominate him like that. Aiden had taken charge so easily, and it had never occurred to Lambert to contest it. If he was being honest with himself, he hadn’t wanted to. There was a not insignificant part of himself that had liked it. There was an even larger part of himself that wanted more. A taste hadn’t been enough to get Aiden out of his system—not by a long shot.

Aiden straightened, holding a carton of eggs, and looked over his shoulder, catching Lambert’s eye. “…Something on your mind?”

Lambert looked away and took a long sip of his coffee. “…Last night was…”

“I enjoyed it,” Aiden said softly, setting the eggs aside and padding over to Lambert. “From the look of things, you did, too.”

“Mm.”

Aiden was pressed against him now, nothing separating them but a thin pair of flannel pajama bottoms, and when he leaned in to kiss Lambert, heat pooled in his belly once more. Lambert lingered, tasting him, encapsulated in the perfection of the moment. The rain dripping down the windows. The pan sizzling on the stove. The warmth of Aiden against his chest.

Aiden pulled away first, his green eyes heavily lidded. “I told you there was chemistry.”

His cock was hard against Lambert’s thigh. Lambert groaned softly, thinking about the way it had felt inside him. His own throbbed in response.

Aiden kissed him again, his leg insinuating its way between Lambert’s own, pressing against Lambert’s stiffening cock. Lambert fought the urge to grind against it, even though it was so kindly offered. He wondered faintly if Aiden could feel his heart pounding in his chest. It seemed so loud to him that the sound of it should have filled the room.

Aiden’s hands traced down his chest, fingers skimming the hair that trailed down Lambert’s abdomen and coming to rest at the drawstring of his pants.

“I like this about you,” he murmured, grinning.

“What about me?”

“That you have hair.” Aiden smoothed it with his palm and slipped his hand into Lambert’s borrowed pants, palming his stiffening cock. “It’s soft. It suits you.”

Lambert gripped the edge of the kitchen island hard, trying to keep his knees from buckling as Aiden began to stroke him. How was he still this horny? His body instinctively reacted to Aiden’s in a way it hadn’t to anyone else’s in a very long time.

Before he’d had time to process what was happening, Aiden was on his knees, tugging Lambert’s pants down around his hips and looking up at him through thick lashes.

Lambert swallowed hard, letting go of the counter with one hand so he could tangle it in Aiden’s curls. To show with actions what he was suddenly incapable of saying with words. _I want you._

Aiden seemed to understand implicitly, and a moment later his lips were pressed to the head of Lambert’s cock, warm and soft. Lambert groaned, making an effort to keep his hips still, as Aiden gripped him at the base and swallowed him down.

His mouth was hot and slick, and his tongue swirled maddeningly over the tip when he pulled back. Lambert leaned his head back and focused on one of the ceiling tiles, sighing through his teeth, because if he’d looked down at Aiden in that moment he might have come right then and there. It was too good. How could it be this good? What had he done to deserve this, at eight in the morning, running on four hours of sleep and not even having brushed his teeth?

Aiden dipped his head and Lambert’s train of thought abruptly derailed as his cock grazed the back of Aiden’s throat. He sucked air in a shocked gasp, thrusting forward involuntarily.

“Fuck,” he said clumsily, his fingers tightening in Aiden’s hair. “God damn—”

Aiden hummed in approval and did it again, his free hand gripping the curve of Lambert’s ass for leverage. Pleasure surged in Lambert like electricity, prickling in his skin, sharp and insistent. He gave up trying to stop himself and rocked his hips in time with Aiden’s rhythm, giving himself over to it, overheated and gasping and only faintly aware of the scent of something burning in the background.

He came so suddenly it caught him by surprise, grinding into Aiden’s mouth as the other man swallowed him down. One of his knees buckled under him and he fought to stay upright, Aiden bracing his legs, until the shaking stopped.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Lambert said, wiping his forehead. “That caught me off guard.”

“Don’t be,” Aiden panted, grinning. “I enjoyed it—”

The shriek of the smoke detector made Lambert jump out of his skin. Both of them whirled around, alarmed, to see the long-forgotten pan on the stove giving off heavy clouds of smoke.

Aiden swore, diving around the counter to shut off the burner, as Lambert rushed to pull his pants back on and find something to whack the smoke detector with so it would stop beeping. He managed it with a broomstick, almost knocking it off the ceiling in the process, and fell to the floor, exhausted.

The shrill screeching echoed in Lambert’s numb ears as Aiden dropped down next to him, leaning back against the fridge. The two of them sat in silence for a moment, catching their breath, and then burst into laughter at the sheer ridiculousness of it.

“That was definitely, absolutely, one hundred percent my fault,” Aiden wheezed, wiping a tear from his eye. “Fuck, I’m so sorry.”

Lambert snorted. “Definitely not going to forget this anytime soon.”

Aiden laughed again. “Do…do you still want breakfast?”

“Sure, if you’re still offering.” Lambert ran a hand through his hair, slicking it back from his face. “By the way, where’d my phone end up? I think I left it in my jeans.”

Aiden pointed to a door on the opposite side of the living room. “Laundry closet. It should be on top of the dryer. Your clothes are in there, too.”

“Thanks. You didn’t have to do that.”

“It was no problem.” Aiden shrugged and then got to his feet. “You can go get dressed if you want. I’ll try not to set the place on fire again.”

Lambert laughed, getting to his feet, and went to get dressed. His clothes smelled like Aiden. They were missing that sharp juniper musk of his cologne, but the unfamiliar scent of his detergent surrounded Lambert in the soft post-coital glow of the morning, and he breathed it deeply as he pulled his shirt on and left the borrowed pants folded on top of the washer.

Aiden had tilted one of the large window panes out by the time Lambert returned, and though a few drops of rain were getting in through the gap, the smoke had mostly dissipated. Lambert pulled up a stool at the island just as Aiden deposited his promised scrambled eggs on the table in front of them, and wolfed them down without really tasting them. Once he’d taken the first bite he became abruptly aware of exactly how starving he was and instinct took over. Aiden made him seconds without being asked, and Lambert mumbled his embarrassed thanks before digging into those as well. He was done by the time Aiden was halfway through his own portion—sunny-side-up, this time—and pulled out his phone while he waited.

It was running on five percent power, and he had no new messages from Eskel or Geralt, which was unusual in and of itself. Usually out of the three of them he was the latest riser, but after the party last night they had probably crashed hard. There was a missed call from Keira, though, which had come in earlier that morning, and a follow-up text one minute later.

**[08:52] Keira Metz:** hey, handsome. get back to me when you can 😘

Lambert groaned to himself, and Aiden raised an eyebrow.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. Listen, I gotta go—there’s a work thing.”

Aiden smiled. “Not a problem. I know you have places to be.”

He stood when Lambert did and walked him to the door, waiting patiently while Lambert pulled on his boots and jacket and fumbled in his pocket for his keys. They stood there awkwardly for a moment, Lambert hovering by the door, unsure of how best to say goodbye.

Aiden answered that for him, leaning in and giving him a lingering kiss. Lambert closed his eyes and leaned into it, enjoying the last little moment in the peaceful bubble of Aiden’s apartment.

“I had fun,” Aiden murmured when he pulled away. “Text me sometime, okay? I’d like to see you again.”

Lambert nodded. “Yeah. Me too.”

“The code for the garage is 1-2-7-5,” Aiden called after him as he headed down the hallway. “So you can get your bike out.”

Lambert waved his thanks just as the elevator gate closed in front of him.

✴

The rain had abated somewhat by the time Lambert pulled up outside his building, and aside from his jacket his clothes were reasonably dry. Nenneke’s door was open, as usual, and as he made his way up the stairs, boots in hand, she laughed.

“Late night?”

“Maybe,” he called back as he kept climbing. “None of your business!”

He unlocked his front door and fell onto the couch, letting out a sigh. It had been a long fucking night. It felt like a week had passed since he left to pick up Aiden the previous evening.

After a long moment he mustered the energy to get up and shower, because Christ, he really needed it, and plug in his phone. It was about half charged by the time he was finished, and he shot off a reply to Keira while he was getting dressed.

**[11:01] Lambert:** Sorry, was busy  
**[11:01] Lambert:** What’s up?

He wrestled with himself for a moment before deciding to put on the same shirt from last night. It was clean, after all—Aiden had washed it—and it smelled like him. It was stupid, but Lambert wanted to hold onto that for as long as possible.

**[11:05] Keira Metz:** can you stop by my apartment? i need to see you  
**[11:06] Lambert:** Is this a booty call?  
**[11:06] Keira Metz** i didn’t intend for it to be. were you expecting one?

**[11:10] Lambert:** I know you can’t resist my charms, but I’m off the market at the moment  
**[11:11] Keira Metz:** oh? do tell  
**[11:12] Lambert:** Later  
**[11:12] Lambert:** Tell me what you want first  
**[11:14] Keira Metz:** better if there’s no paper trail. so if you wouldn’t mind coming over?  
**[11:15] Lambert:** Alright, Alright. Give me an hour

✴

A little over forty-five minutes later, Lambert was standing outside Keira’s ultra-modern high rise in Gran’place. He leaned on the buzzer until she let him in, and waited several minutes for an elevator to take him up to the fifteenth floor.

Keira’s apartment wasn’t a penthouse, but at this height that really didn’t matter. Her place was premium, with floor-to-ceiling windows and white marble countertops. She had always had a taste for the finer things, and thanks to an unending stream of mafia money, she could afford them. The inside of her stainless steel fridge was always stocked with bottles of champagne and elegant desserts, the kitchen was top-of-the-line and spotless, and the whirlpool soaking tub in the bathroom could easily accommodate two, which Lambert could vouch for personally, having shared it with her on multiple occasions.

She answered the door in a blush silk robe through which the black lace of her lingerie blatantly showed, and Lambert rolled his eyes.

“That for my benefit, or yours?”

“Neither,” she said impishly, pecking him on the cheek. “I had a late night. From the look of things, you did as well.”

Lambert flopped rather ungracefully onto the white leather sofa and gestured openly. “So what’d you drag me out here for?”

“Philippa has a job for you,” she said, perching on the arm of the sofa beside him. “And Geralt neglected to answer his phone.”

“He’s probably either still passed out or too hungover to check his messages,” Lambert said, shrugging. “What’s up?”

“To put things very simply: there’s a man who has some…compromising photos of her in his possession. She’d like the three of you to recover them. She doesn’t particularly care what you have to do to get them, or what happens to him afterward.”

Lambert cocked an eyebrow. “I thought she played for the other team.”

“My impression of the situation is that she was using him for information and things got out of hand. No love lost there, if you take my meaning.” Keira handed over an embossed card with a name and address written on it in furious, spiky handwriting. The nib of the pen had almost torn through the paper. Philippa was _pissed._

“Christ.” Lambert shook his head. “How stupid does a guy have to be to try to pull revenge porn on Eilhart?”

Keira laughed. “Pretty stupid, if you ask me. He’s lucky she decided to send you instead of gouging his eyes out personally.”

“He’s not one of Emreis’s, is he?”

“Would there be a problem if he was?”

Lambert held up his hands. “Hey, I just want to know exactly how far up shit creek I’m paddling myself.”

“Fair enough. No, I don’t think he belongs to Emhyr. He’s unaligned, so to speak.” She glanced sideways at Lambert. “Not unlike you.”

“Does Aretuza have a problem with that?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Not if I have anything to say about it,” she replied. “Luckily for you, I enjoy having you around. Speaking of which—what’s this about you suddenly being off the market? Did someone put in a better offer?”

“Very funny.”

“I’m genuinely asking!”

Lambert shrugged. “I met someone. It’s still pretty new, but I think I want to see him again.”

Keira grinned. “What’s his name?”

“Aiden. He’s, uh—he’s a dancer at Rose’s.”

“Julian’s place?” Keira cocked an eyebrow. “He must be new. I don’t know him.”

“…Do you seriously know all the dancers?”

“Pretty much, yes.” She rested her face in her hands, looking at Lambert intently. “Tell me about him.”

“Why?”

“So I can decide if he’s good enough for you.”

Lambert rolled his eyes. “Keira—”

“Humor me.”

“I dunno…” Lambert picked at a stray thread on his jeans. “He’s hot. He’s got curly hair and green eyes. And a nice tattoo on his back. He’s interesting. He seems to think I’m interesting. For some reason.”

“Descriptive as always,” she said, laughing. “How is he in bed?”

“Fuck off.”

She prodded him in the shoulder. “You were humoring me.”

“He’s, uh…he’s good.” Lambert swallowed, thinking of how Aiden’s lips had been around his cock just a couple of hours ago. “He has a nice dick. I had fun with him. What else do you want me to say?”

“Alright,” she said, relenting. “He has my blessing.”

“Since when do I need to get your blessing?”

“What, I can’t be protective?” Keira laughed, standing. “I’m having a Bellini. Would you like one?”

Lambert shook his head. “No thanks. I’m on the clock, remember?”

“Suit yourself.” She vanished into the kitchen, and Lambert heard the refrigerator door clink open. “You’re welcome to stay for a while if you want, though.”

“I’d rather get this over with.” He got up, checking his phone again and seeing no new messages. “I’m gonna go try to dig up Eskel and Geralt. I’ll let you know when we’ve got something.”

She blew him a kiss over the bar. “You’re a peach.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.” Lambert grinned and headed for the door. “Catch you later, Keira.”

✴

It took Lambert the better part of the afternoon to kick Geralt and Eskel out of bed, and he only succeeded in the end because he’d had the foresight to bring over some breakfast burritos he’d picked up from the bodega down the street. He explained the job between bites of his own as the two of them shook off their hungover haze.

“Dijkstra…” Geralt stared blankly at the card Lambert thrust in his direction. “You’re kidding. Philippa fucked Dijkstra?”

“Apparently. Who the hell is he?”

Geralt groaned, looking for a second like he was seriously considering hugging the toilet. Lambert waited impatiently for him to get over it and start talking again, his arms crossed.

“He’s…how do I put it? Basically anyone that has political power, Dijkstra’s the one pulling the strings. ‘Cept Emhyr. Nobody’s pulling his ‘cept Yen.”

“Yeah, and it’s gonna get her killed one day.” Lambert shook his head. There were some things even he had the good sense not to fuck with, and Emhyr var-fucking-Emreis was one of them. “Keira did say she figured Philippa was only sleeping with him because she wanted something from him.”

“Christ.” Geralt rubbed his temples. “Okay. Give me five…teen…minutes. We can go.”

“You sure you’re sober enough for this?” Lambert eyed him dubiously.

“Eh, he’ll be fine,” Eskel said, straightening up. “ ‘ll sober up on the train. Be right back.”

Lambert was pretty sure he heard Eskel puking in the shower a minute later, but it wasn’t like he had any room to judge. Usually the two of them were the ones who woke up in the gutter and he was the one ten feet under it. It was lucky he and Aiden had ducked out early last night in more ways than one.

Both Eskel and Geralt had perked up a fair bit by the time the three of them were on the subway, though, and when they got off at their stop in Hauteville twenty minutes and a train change later they were looking more or less normal. A bit haggard, if anything, but that only really served to make them look more threatening, which was good enough for this.

Dijkstra’s house was an unassuming brownstone in the middle of the district, close enough to the banks and government buildings for easy access, but far enough away to avoid prying eyes. The street outside was quiet, and lined with a series of shady oak trees. Lambert couldn’t imagine what a place like this cost. More than he was worth several times over, undoubtedly.

“How d’you wanna do this?” he muttered to Eskel and Geralt as they approached. “Barge in? Knock and kick his teeth in when he answers the door?”

Geralt winced. “Let’s give him a chance to talk. No reason for the cops to show up if they don’t have to.”

Lambert shook his head in disbelief. “Whatever you want, but I don’t think Eilhart planned on us popping in for afternoon tea.”

“Yeah, well.” Eskel shrugged. “Doesn’t really matter as long as the job is done, does it?”

“Your funeral.” Lambert stood aside and gestured for the two of them to go up the front steps first. “Age before beauty, old man.”

“Fuck off. Only got six years on you.”

“And it shows.” Lambert grinned.

Eskel punched him on the shoulder as he passed by and went to knock on the door.

It was answered almost immediately by a squat, bald man who looked more like a rutabaga than anything else. Lambert glanced at Geralt, one eyebrow raised, and Geralt shook his head. Not Dijkstra.

“Mr. Reuven is expecting you,” the man said, sounding positively gleeful about it.

Lambert swore internally. He couldn’t imagine any scenarios where that was a good thing. Half their advantage as far as intimidation went was in the element of surprise.

“Please,” the man continued, stepping aside and gesturing with a flourish. “Come in.”

Apprehensively, Lambert stepped over the threshold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had stupid fun writing this chapter. As my beta said in their comments: it's not good morning sex until your breakfast burns. lol  
> I hope you're enjoying the story so far! Please consider leaving me a comment if you are, I'd love to hear your thoughts <3


	5. Family Ties

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta read, as always, by [bookscorpion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookscorpion)!

The interior of Dijkstra’s house was dark compared to the street outside.

Its walls were paneled in espresso-colored wood, and what little real estate wasn’t taken up by oil paintings and deep red furniture was filled with books. Everywhere Lambert turned, there were more. Philosophy. War. Psychology. Poetry. Several unmarked leather-bound volumes that looked vaguely threatening to his eye.

The man who had let them in led them down a narrow hall to a closed door, which he rapped on sharply before opening.

“The guests you’ve been expecting,” he said with a slight bow.

The room Lambert and the others were promptly ushered into was clearly a study. There were even more books scattered around, as well as a number of half-redacted papers. In the center was a heavy oak desk, behind which a fire was blazing, and sitting at it was a shapeless blob of a man in a tailored suit that did absolutely nothing to flatter his frame.

“Yes, thank you, Happen,” the man behind the desk—presumably Dijkstra—responded, dismissing him with a wave.

Dijkstra, once Lambert got a decent look at him, wasn’t much easier on the eyes than Happen was. His head sat directly on his shoulders, and two beady little eyes stared back at Lambert above a nose that was largely out of proportion with the rest of his face. The overall effect was somewhat pig-like, but Lambert revised that sentiment a moment later, deciding that it was probably an offense to the pig.

“Well, well, well,” Dijkstra said smugly as Lambert and the others stepped into the room. “Geralt du Haute-Bellegarde, Eskel Anders, and Lambert Kaminski. I was wondering how long it would be before I found you three knocking at my door.”

“You know us?” Lambert said incredulously, crossing his arms.

Dijkstra shook his head. “You really have no idea who you’re dealing with, do you? I know every man in the city. Especially peons like you that Phil uses to do her dirty work. That _is_ why you’re here, isn’t it?”

“Fine, if we’re dispensing with the niceties.” Geralt stepped forward. “You know what we want. Hand over the pictures and we can get going.”

Dijkstra threw up his hands. “I can’t do that. Opportunities like these only come round every so often. Phil should have been more mindful of who she was playing with. I’ve been trying to get my hands on some real leverage over her for years, and now I finally have it. You lot—the mobsters, the mercs, the whores—have been pissing on my city for decades. It’s my turn to piss back.”

Lambert’s patience was already running thin. “Do you want to just skip ahead to the part where we kick your ass until you do what we want?”

“Have some bloody decency.” Dijkstra eyed him with disdain. “I’m not an idiot. You won’t be leaving empty-handed. In fact, if you go now and tell dear old Phil to sod off I can make it very much worth your while.”

Eskel laughed incredulously. “You’re trying to buy us?”

“I won’t offer twice.” Dijkstra leaned across the desk. “I may not look it, but I hit bloody hard. I’m confident I can take at least two of you down with me if it comes to that. Is it going to come to that?”

Geralt shook his head. “You really think we’re stupid enough to cross Philippa? Wolves’re one of the only neutral parties in the whole damn city. Maybe take a minute to think about why that is. It’s hard to play both sides without getting burned. Turning on your employer is bad for business.”

“You must be stupider than you look if you think I’m dumb enough to piss off Eilhart,” Lambert added. “I like my teeth exactly where they are. And my nuts, for that matter. Hard pass.”

“Phil’s not the only one who can rearrange your teeth,” Dijkstra said, getting to his feet.

Lambert had to raise an eyebrow as Dijkstra drew up to his full height. He easily had a solid foot on him, and he was a big guy to boot. He wasn’t a wall of muscle by any means, but he wasn’t going to go down easy.

“Geralt—?”

“God damn it,” Geralt growled, ducking under Dijkstra’s heavy right hook as he swung.

“Shouldn’t’ve tried to play nice,” Lambert hissed. “Keep him busy.”

Lambert dodged around Dijkstra as Geralt and Eskel took the brunt of the assault, skidding around the desk and rifling through the drawers. Anything that opened easily was the wrong spot. Dijkstra definitely would have kept something this valuable close to him, but he wasn’t stupid enough to leave the drawer unlocked.

The center top drawer put up a fight when Lambert yanked on it. He stood up, took a step back, and brought his boot heel down on the lock.

Nothing.

He did it again, hard enough to feel the impact in his bones.

Nothing.

Lambert rallied for one final push and stomped on the mechanism as hard as he could. The drawer splintered and fell out of the desk with a crash, scattering its contents everywhere. Right on top was a small manila envelope with one word on it: _Phil._

“Got you, you son of a bitch.” Lambert snatched it just as Dijkstra rounded on him, face beet red with fury, and bludgeoned him in the side of the head with a haymaker that hit with the force of an oncoming truck.

Lambert fell to the ground in a red haze of pain, the room spinning around him.

“Give those back, you little shit,” Dijkstra snarled, foot raised to come crashing down on Lambert’s hand.

Lambert’s body was suddenly slow and clumsy. He struggled against the thick fog that weighed on his brain, fighting to stay conscious. He tried to get to his feet, but his legs wouldn’t obey. Shit, Dijkstra was going to break every bone in his arm—

“Don’ fuckin’ move.”

The thrum of Eskel’s voice stopped Dijkstra dead. Lambert pushed himself up onto his hands and knees, spitting blood from where he’d bitten his tongue, trying to get a grip on the situation.

Eskel had Dijkstra at the point of a poker, which he had snatched from the fireplace. The tip glowed cherry red and hovered a hair’s breadth away from the base of Dijkstra’s skull. Eskel’s face was uncharacteristically hard. His scarred lip was always pulled slightly back in the imitation of a sneer, but when he leaned into it he looked downright terrifying.

“Get up, Lambert,” Geralt said, hauling him to his feet.

Lambert fought the impulse to vomit as the world rotated much too fast around him, clutching the priceless envelope as if his life depended on it. Geralt pushed him into the wall so he could use it as support, and Lambert stayed there, panting for breath.

“Was willing to talk this out,” Geralt continued, advancing on Dijkstra, “but now you’ve pissed me off.”

“What’s it to be, then?” Dijkstra taunted. “The rack? Are you going to feed me my balls and then sink me in the river like that trained dog of Emreis’s? Don’t make me laugh.”

“Wasn’t thinking of anything so elegant.”

Geralt took a moment, sizing Dijkstra up, and then made a fist and socked him as hard as he could in the jaw. Dijkstra went down like a sack of shit, clutching his face and groaning.

“That felt good,” Geralt said in a low voice, cracking his knuckles.

“You’re going to regret that,” Dijkstra spat. “Yes, you’ve got your pound of flesh, but sooner or later you’re going to need a favor. I won’t be so accommodating the next time you come crawling to my door.”

“I’m not the one who’s crawling right now.”

Dijkstra laughed. “The lot of you are lucky your friend with the poker has half a brain in his head. If he hadn’t gotten in the way I’d have—”

“You’re gonna wanna shut up now,” Eskel said reasonably.

It was already a bit late for that, judging by the look on Geralt’s face. “I may only have half a brain, but there are two things I’m very sure of right now.” He crouched down, looking Dijkstra in the eye. “The first is that you’re a piece of shit. Trying to pull this photo stunt on _anyone_ , least of all Philippa, would have been more than enough reason for me to kick your ass. Two—you were planning on killing Lambert just now, weren’t you?”

Dijkstra sneered.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. So kicking your ass doesn’t really cut it.”

“What are you going to do?” Dijkstra asked derisively. “You didn’t come here to kill me. I know a murderer when I see one.”

“No, but”—Geralt punched Dijkstra again, and Lambert was sure he heard his nose break—“I can definitely make your life miserable for a good long while.”

Geralt got to his feet and planted one of his steel-toed boots hard on Dijkstra’s shin. Looking about as pissed as Lambert had ever seen him, he reached down, seized Dijkstra’s foot by the oversized dress shoe, and pulled until the bone snapped with a sickening crunch.

Dijkstra howled with pain, clutching at his leg as he spouted a string of profanities intermingled with promises to kill the three of them in a range of imaginative ways, each more colorful than the last.

Eskel hit him over the head with the poker, and he fell to the ground unconscious.

“Sorry,” Eskel said with a shrug. “It seemed like the reasonable thing to do.”

Geralt shook his head. “Thanks. Lost my cool there for a minute.”

“You still got those photos, Lambert?”

Lambert held up the crumpled envelope weakly. It definitely _felt_ like there were photos in it, and the hard cylinder of an undeveloped roll of film too. He valued his own skin too much to peek at them to check.

Geralt nodded. “Better get rid of them as fast as possible. We’ll swing by Philippa’s and then we’ll take you to see Shani, okay Lambert? Hey”—he snapped his fingers in front of Lambert’s face—”you listening?”

“Hnm? Yeah.” Lambert blinked against the throbbing in his head. “Lessgo.”

✴

Several hours and a visit to the ER later Lambert was feeling a little more like himself. His head hurt like a bitch, something the omnipresent thump of the music inside Rose’s was doing nothing to help, and he had a knot the size of an egg on his temple from where Dijkstra had clocked him, but all things considered he’d come out relatively unscathed. His ears were still ringing, though it was hard to tell if that was because of the music or not. He hadn’t broken his skull, at least, and according to Shani’s assessment he only had a minor concussion. Things definitely could have been worse.

“Priscilla sent this over,” Aiden said, appearing out of nowhere with a rocks glass full of ice and a second of soda water and depositing them on the table. “You look like shit. Rough day at work?”

“Yeah. Thanks.” Lambert picked up the glass of ice and held it against his throbbing temple, hissing through his teeth at the cold. He gestured at Geralt and Eskel. “You remember the guys.”

Aiden nodded. “Hey.”

“Hey,” they chorused in turn.

Aiden turned back to Lambert, arms crossed. “Should you even be here right now?”

“Probably not,” Lambert admitted.

“Waiting to meet up with someone so we can get paid,” Geralt explained. “After that, we’ll take him home.”

“How long is that going to take?”

Eskel shrugged. “Could be a coupla hours.”

“Do you really need him?”

“No, but he’s not goin’ anywhere by himself right now.”

Lambert rolled his eyes. “I don’t need you to tuck me in, Eskel.”

Aiden frowned. “You didn’t take your bike here, did you?”

“No. Subway.”

Aiden hummed to himself. “I’m off in about fifteen. I could walk you home, if you want.”

Lambert sighed. “I really don’t need a babysitter.”

“You can either leave with him, or you can leave with us,” Geralt said with a shrug. “It’s one or the other.”

“Fuck. Fine.” He glanced at Aiden. “Fair warning, my place is a wreck.”

“Not a problem.” Aiden squeezed his shoulder. “I’ll come get you after I’m dressed and clocked out.”

“Thanks.”

Lambert nursed his soda water while he waited, wishing it were something stronger. If it hadn’t been for the simple fact that Shani would kick his ass for being so reckless he might have ordered a vodka and coke anyway. He tuned out Geralt and Eskel’s conversation, leaning his head back against the violently purple pleather of the booth, and held the glass of ice against his head.

Aiden was back before he knew it, wearing a deep blue sweater, dark jeans, and high tops. It was crazy how different he looked when he wasn’t performing, Lambert thought to himself. Aiden on stage and Aiden in his street clothes, to his eye, were almost two completely different people. Aiden naked in his bed was somewhere in between. Lambert wondered which version of him was closest to the real thing.

“You ready to go?” Aiden asked, raising an eyebrow.

Lambert nodded and then winced when that sent a bolt of pain shooting through his temple.

“Thanks for looking after him,” Geralt said in a low voice as Lambert got to his feet. “I’d’ve taken him home already, but we try never to make a handoff solo. It’s safer that way.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Aiden said with a small smile. “Thanks for having me over last night. You’ve got a nice place.”

Geralt laughed. “You’ll have to come back sometime when it’s less destroyed.”

“Looking forward to it.”

Lambert and Aiden walked together out into the soft orange glow of the street, past the hulking mountain of a bouncer whose name Lambert had already forgotten, who grunted a curt good night at the two of them as they went.

It was three blocks to the nearest subway entrance, and it took Lambert an agonizing minute to fumble through his wallet for his card to get through the turnstile. He refused to sit on the train out of stubbornness, bracing himself against one of the poles instead while Aiden watched him warily. Against all odds, he managed to stay on his feet. That was a good thing—it would have been humiliating if he’d fallen flat on his face when the driver hit the brakes.

The recording crackling through the speakers overhead announced dimly that they were pulling into Lambert’s station in the Bits. He gripped his pole tightly as the train came to a stop, and then nodded for Aiden to follow as he disembarked the train.

“Rough neighborhood,” Aiden remarked as the two of them ascended to street level.

“It has its charms.”

Aiden wasn’t wrong—the Bits wasn’t a great part of town. Every other storefront was boarded up, and the few that were occupied mostly sold tobacco, liquor, or guns. From down a nearby alleyway came the unmistakable flickering glow of a trash fire, which several people were huddled around. Most of the buildings were old, and hadn’t been well-maintained. The same went for Lambert’s, though he was lucky in that it was structurally sound. It wasn’t much to look at, but at least his ceiling didn’t leak.

The Bits, for the most part, were where the city’s human refuse ended up. Lambert still counted himself in that category, though he’d done pretty well for himself in the past couple of years. He couldn’t afford an apartment like Geralt and Eskel’s in Silverton, but he had enough to get by, and that was fine by him. The people in the Bits had lived rough lives, but for the most part they were good folks. They looked out for each other. No one else was going to.

They took two lefts and a right from the station, and Lambert punched the front door code into the cracked keypad with worn-off numbers to get them into the hall. The door unlocked with a clunk and he pushed it inward.

“If you see a lady that looks like a crazy nun,” he said over his shoulder, “don’t stop walking. I don’t feel like a lecture tonight.”

Nenneke’s door was thankfully closed. Lambert stepped carefully as he passed her landing, thanking his lucky stars for cutting him a break. He was sure he’d get a scolding from her eventually—he never could keep anything a secret in this building—but at the very least he wouldn’t have to take it tonight.

When they finally reached his landing on the fourth floor, he breathed a sigh of relief. It took a couple of tries to fit the key into the lock, but a moment later he was sprawled out on his couch. Damn, it felt good to be home. He could finally relax. Even if Aiden was there, and the place was a mess—which, if he was being honest with himself, the concussion was doing a pretty good job of tempering his nerves about. He frowned at the basket of unfolded laundry on top of the coffee table, thinking of the wreck of his bedroom down the hall.

“Sorry,” he said ruefully. “If I’d have known you’d be coming over I would’ve cleaned up.”

Aiden shrugged. “It’s really not a problem. I just wanted to make sure you got home okay. Don’t feel like you need to entertain me or anything—I figured I’d just head back to the station and catch a train home.”

“You sure?” Lambert cracked one eye open. “The neighborhood is…I guess you might not feel great about walking back alone.”

“I’m sure I’ll manage.” Aiden smiled softly.

“I’m, uh—” Lambert stumbled over his inarticulate tongue. “You can stay here, if you want. Is what I meant. It’s not much—sorry.”

“Mm. I guess it probably wouldn’t be a bad idea for someone to keep an eye on you. Aren’t you supposed to wake up someone with a concussion every half hour, or something?”

Lambert shook his head. “Shani said it’s fine. Rest, hydration, and a shit ton of Advil. I’ll live.”

“Well, that’s good, at least.” Aiden laughed. “When you left my place this morning I didn’t imagine you’d manage to get into so much trouble in less than twelve hours.”

Christ, had that really been this morning? Lambert groaned. “Yeah, life’s funny like that.”

“For the record, I like your apartment,” Aiden added, walking around the small living room and taking in the sparse decorations.

“Yeah?”

“It’s got personality. I always really loved these old buildings.” He picked up a small picture frame from the shelf. “Who’s this?”

“My dad. Vesemir.”

Aiden hummed to himself, looking at the picture intently. “You don’t look alike at all.”

“Well, yeah. I’m—was—adopted.”

“Huh.” Aiden set the frame down. “What was that like? Sorry—that’s probably a weird question, isn’t it?”

Lambert shrugged. “It’s fine. I was…hmm. I was a really shitty kid. My sperm donor was an abusive piece of shit, and my mom was too drunk to do anything about it. CPS grabbed me when I was…I dunno, nine? I bounced around the foster system for a long time after that. I was angry. I acted out a lot. I ran away more than once. The people they placed me with didn’t know how to deal with it. I ended up with Vesemir when I was fifteen. I figured he wasn’t any different than any of the others. I treated him like absolute shit for the first couple years I was living with him, but he was…I don’t know. He was really patient with me. He didn’t yell or threaten. He just gave me space to figure things out for myself. I liked that. I was already eighteen before the adoption paperwork officially went through, but that didn’t matter. He was already my parent by then. It was just a formality, you know?”

“He sounds like a good man.”

“He was. Smoked like a chimney, though.” Lambert sighed. “That’s how I met Eskel and Geralt, actually. The foster system is a bitch. We had some of the same shitty placements. They’d already aged out before I ended up with Vesemir, but they still came to visit me whenever they could.”

“How did you end up becoming a merc?” Aiden sat on the couch beside him.

Lambert laughed. “Family business. Vesemir was, when he was younger. I met some people, one thing led to another…”

“Makes sense.”

“What about you? What’s your family like?”

Aiden grimaced. “My dad disowned me when he found out I was gay. I haven’t spoken to him in about eight years.”

“Shit. Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. It is what it is.” Aiden shrugged. “Last I’d heard he and my mom had split up. She moved out of the country a while back, so it’s pretty rare that I see her these days.”

Lambert sighed through his teeth. “Families are fucked, aren’t they?”

“You’re not kidding.”

The two of them sat in silence for a while, the faint throbbing in Lambert’s temple the only thing marking the passage of time. He didn’t realize until Aiden gently shook his shoulder that he’d been falling asleep sitting up.

“I’m so sorry,” Aiden said ruefully. “You shouldn’t feel like you need to stay up for my sake. I’m sure you need to rest.”

Lambert couldn’t deny that he was exhausted. His limbs felt heavier than lead. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep, but…yeah. I could lie down.” He got to his feet and headed down the hallway, shrugging off his jacket as he went. “Help yourself to whatever’s in the fridge, but it’s probably not much.” He paused in the doorway, looking at his unmade bed with a frown. “I’m fine with sharing the bed, but if you’d rather sleep on the couch, there should be a pillow and blanket in the closet.”

“I’ll manage.” Aiden smiled softly. “Don’t worry about me.”

The bare minimum of hygiene done, Lambert stripped down to his boxers and crawled into bed. 

The last thing he saw before he fell asleep was Aiden’s face, lit in soft profile by the glow of his phone screen, as he sat on the couch down the hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly one of my favorite parts of this AU is that I was able to give Lambert and Vesemir a better relationship. They deserved that much, at least.


	6. Egg Drop Soup

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta read as always by [bookscorpion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookscorpion)!

When Lambert woke, he was alone.

It was difficult to suppress the pang of disappointment he felt upon rolling over and finding the bed empty, which mingled unpleasantly with the remnants of his headache. He did feel better than he had last night, but not so much as he might have if he could have curled up next to Aiden and fallen back asleep for the rest of the morning.

There was a glass of water on the nightstand, though, along with the half-empty bottle of Advil from the medicine cabinet, and he was sure he hadn’t put them there himself. The glass was still cold, too—beads of condensation rolled down the side, dripping onto the duvet when Lambert picked it up to down its contents. He sat up in bed and pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, groaning.

His phone—what had he done with it, anyway? It wasn’t in the pocket of the jeans he’d worn last night. He dragged himself out of bed and shuffled down the hallway, looking around blearily until he found it plugged in beside the TV. Aiden must have done that, too. It felt…strange, being cared for by someone like this. Someone who wasn’t family, anyway. And even Vesemir wouldn’t have tucked him into bed.

The phone, when he picked it up and unlocked it, was fully charged and had a single notification on it. It was a missed text from Aiden, and from only twenty minutes earlier. Lambert’s heart beat a little faster as he opened it.

 **[10:43] Aiden (Rose’s):** Sorry, got stuck downstairs. Think I met your grandma?

Lambert swore under his breath. Nenneke could never mind her damn business.

He threw on sweatpants and a wrinkled shirt from the basket of clean laundry and headed downstairs. Nenneke’s door was open when he reached her landing, and when he barged in he found her and Aiden at the kitchen table, sharing a chipped pot of tea and some madeleines.

“There you are,” Nenneke said with a grin, getting up to retrieve a third teacup from the cabinet. “I was worried you might sleep all day.”

“Sorry about her,” Lambert said with a sideways glance at Aiden.

Aiden waved him off. “We’ve been having a lovely chat, actually. I’d ordered some Chinese from a place down the street, and she caught me when I came back in.”

Lambert glared at Nenneke. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”

“Getting pissed off is bad for your head,” she said serenely, setting down the teacup with a clink and pouring. “Sit down and eat something. You should put some arnica on that bruise, too.”

“What’s up with the Chinese food, anyway?” Lambert took his seat, pointedly ignoring her. “Isn’t it like eleven?”

Aiden made an apologetic sound, reaching for a grease-stained paper bag that sat on the counter. “Egg drop soup. I swear it works magic on hangovers. I thought it might do something similar for a concussion.”

Egg drop soup actually sounded fantastic. Lambert took the styrofoam cup Aiden passed over and pried the lid off, letting the steam waft up around his face. His stomach growled.

“Thank you,” he said, genuinely meaning it. “For the water, too. And my phone.”

“Don’t mention it.” Aiden smiled.

“So,” Lambert said, taking an experimental sip of the soup. “What’s she been telling you about me?”

“I haven’t said a word,” Nenneke said, flicking his forearm.

Lambert raised an eyebrow.

“She’s telling the truth!” Aiden came to her rescue, holding up his hands. “We’ve been talking about the neighborhood. She was just telling me that she runs the community garden.”

“She runs just about everything around here,” Lambert replied.

Nenneke sighed. “I don’t have as much time as I used to. The garden gives people something productive to do, and helps them feed their families. We sell off some of the surplus to cover our costs, and give the rest away to people who need it. I’m quite fond of it, as projects go. There’s always something to improve, and there’s nothing quite like growing plants from seed.”

“It’s got a greenhouse and everything,” Lambert added. “I can’t grow shit, but I haul dirt and bricks over there sometimes. They’ve even got pomegranates. It’s insane.”

Aiden looked more than impressed. “I’d love to see it sometime.”

Nenneke smiled. “I’m sure Lambert can bring you by next time I need his muscle.”

“I’d be happy to help.” Aiden took a sip of his tea. “Hmm. I…can’t help but notice your crucifix?”

Nenneke glanced over her shoulder at the little figure of Christ hanging on the wall over the TV, with the pride flag draped around his shoulders and a blunt tucked behind his ear. She chuckled. “You have questions.”

“About a dozen.”

“I’ll give you the short version. I was a nun for quite some time. I loved God very much—I still do, in fact. But as I got older and saw more of the world I came to the conclusion that I didn’t care for the way the Church was doing things. As I saw it, the things they were teaching didn’t quite line up with the words in the Bible. I ended up leaving and put my own spin on it.” She reached out to snag a madeleine from the plate and dipped it into her teacup. “Above all else, Christ taught kindness. I try to look out for my neighbors. Half the people on this block are my kids now. They all call me Nana.” She grinned. “I run the garden. I make an extra meal here and there. Sometimes they crash on my couch. Sometimes I bail them out of jail. So many people are one bad day away from falling down a deep hole. I try to do my best to keep them out of trouble. I kick the asses of the ones _making_ trouble.”

Aiden rested his chin in his hands. “That’s…admirable, frankly.”

“Nice of you to say so.” She flicked Lambert again. “Eat your soup.”

“Fuck off, I’m working on it!”

Nenneke sighed, clucking her tongue at him. “I’ll find you some arnica. That bruise is only going to get worse otherwise.”

She stood and wandered off to rummage through her medicine cabinet. Lambert drained the soup carton and sighed in contentment. His head did feel a bit lighter, somehow.

“Thanks,” he said to Aiden, who was finishing his tea. “I think that really did help.”

Aiden grinned. “I’m glad.”

Nenneke was back a moment later with a purple tube of ointment, which she pressed into Lambert’s hands. He pocketed it, knowing there was no way he was getting out of the apartment without it, and sighed.

“Shit,” Aiden muttered suddenly. “What time is it?”

“Probably eleven?” Lambert shrugged. “I left my phone upstairs.”

Aiden grimaced. “I hate to dine and dash, but I have a shift in a couple of hours and I need to run home first—”

“Go on, then.” Nenneke patted his shoulder and collected his teacup. “I’m sure Lambert will walk you out.”

Lambert shot her a glare as he pushed his chair back from the table, but he led Aiden out of the apartment and down the stairs nonetheless. They paused at the bottom landing in front of the door.

“Do you want me to walk you to the station?” Lambert regretted not putting on shoes on his way downstairs.

Aiden shook his head. “I’ll be fine. Nana changed my mind about the locale, anyway.”

“Is she making you call her that?”

Aiden laughed. “I kind of like it. I’m glad I had a chance to meet her.”

“Wait until she starts interfering in your love life,” Lambert muttered.

“I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.” Aiden leaned in and kissed Lambert softly. “Thanks for letting me stay. I’ll text you later, alright?”

Lambert nodded, already mentally curled up on his couch with the memory of Aiden wrapped around him.

“See you later.”

✴

Lambert slept most of the day away in a headache haze, getting up around two to chug a glass of water and then passing out again until half past seven. The sun was going down when he finally dragged himself to the shower to clean up, and it was fully dark outside by the time he’d finished and flopped back down on the couch with a carton of cold sesame noodles. Yet another thing he had to thank Aiden for. He wasn’t sure what he’d done to deserve his kindness, but he was definitely grateful.

There wasn’t much on TV. He flipped through the channels absently as he ate, going back and forth between the news and an 80s sci-fi movie he thought he might have seen once before while drunk. The news never had much good to say these days. It was all death and destruction, one accident after another. The rainstorm had washed out the tracks by the harbor and derailed a train carrying coal. Two bodies had been found on the Pontar’s shores at low tide. A building had burnt down in Lacehalls—that one, Lambert was pretty sure, was Eilhart’s fault. She tended to get a bit explosive when she was pissed off. He’d put down decent money that the warehouse she’d torched had something to do with Dijkstra, somehow.

Lambert turned the volume down and laid back, setting the empty carton and chopsticks aside. Even after sleeping all day, he was still tired. He sighed to himself. Being laid up for a day or two after a fight was nothing new for him. He’d broken so many bones at this point it was a miracle Shani was still willing to look him over at this point. It was different when it was his head, though. He hated feeling so tired and slow, even though she’d reassured him that it was normal while his brain was healing. Slow wasn’t something he did well.

He wished Aiden were still there, he realized suddenly. He’d spent half the week with him, but somehow it didn’t feel like enough. Lambert usually got sick of being around people after a couple of hours, but being with Aiden was…easy. And even though they barely knew each other, he was sure that he’d slept better with Aiden sharing his bed.

Aiden had said he would text him, hadn’t he? Lambert unlocked his phone, but found himself staring down a blank notifications screen. He groaned and dropped it. A few crazy days and he’d turned into a desperate wreck. He needed to get a grip on himself.

That didn’t stop him from scrambling to grab his phone when it buzzed against the coffee table a few minutes later.

 **[20:17] Aiden (Rose’s):** Hey, handsome. How’s the head?

 **[20:19] Lambert:** Better, actually  
**[20:19] Lambert:** Thanks again for everything. You didn’t have to do any of that  
**[20:20] Aiden (Rose's):** Please, I wanted to. I’m glad you’re feeling better.

 **[20:22] Aiden (Rose's):** Shame you weren’t at the club tonight. I’ve been working on a new routine.

Lambert grinned.

 **[20:23] Lambert:** Yeah? You’ll have to show me sometime  
**[20:23] Aiden (Rose's):** I can give you a sneak peek, if you want ;)

Lambert’s heart beat a little faster in his chest.

 **[20:24] Lambert:** Oh yeah?  
**[20:26] Aiden (Rose's):** A little something to cheer you up ✨  
**[20:26] Aiden (Rose's):** _img_

The picture, when it loaded, was of a mostly-naked Aiden, inverted on a brass pole. He hung suspended, seemingly by nothing, one leg wrapped around the pole as he reached behind him to grasp the other. He made it look effortless, somehow, his eyes closed and lips half-parted in the soft purple wash of the stage lights. Lambert bit his lip.

 **[20:28] Lambert:** God damn  
**[20:29] Lambert:** Wait, who’s taking the picture?  
**[20:30] Aiden (Rose's):** Netty did  
**[20:32] Aiden (Rose's):** I wanted to send you a little something, since you couldn’t come watch in person.  
**[20:32] Aiden (Rose's):** What do you think of my costume?

The ‘costume’ in question was little more than a dark blue thong with some subtle lace edging. Lambert swallowed.

 **[20:34] Lambert:** I like it

He wrestled with himself for a moment.

 **[20:35] Lambert:** I’d like it a lot more off you  
**[20:36] Aiden (Rose's):** Is that so? That can be arranged  
**[20:38] Aiden (Rose's):** _img_

The next picture was clearly a selfie, taken from the chest down. Aiden’s other hand toyed with the band of his underwear, pulling it down as far as he possibly could have without actually showing anything.

Lambert drank him in hungrily, his gaze lingering on the soft curls of hair that were exposed in the image. He wanted to bury his face in them. For all he’d thought about tasting Aiden, he suddenly realized, he’d never actually done it. That was something he’d have to fix the next time they saw each other.

 **[20:40] Lambert:** That was mean and you know it  
**[20:41] Aiden (Rose's):** What’s mean about wanting to have a little fun?  
**[20:42] Aiden (Rose's):** I wouldn’t mind seeing you, either ;)

Really? Lambert didn’t generally think of himself as a desirable guy, but if it was what Aiden really wanted…

Fuck, he honestly couldn’t remember the last time he’d taken a dick pic. He hesitantly stuck his hand down his pants and began stroking his half-hard cock, looking at the picture Aiden had sent him. It wasn’t long before he was fully erect, flushed and leaking slightly. He tugged down the waistband of his sweatpants, his face burning, and snapped a clumsy photo with his left hand before he could talk himself out of it. Thumbing the send button, he bit his lip.

Aiden’s response a minute later was another photo. The thong was still there, but he’d pulled it down even further, and was gripping his cock at the base. The soft lighting cast subtle shadows across his skin, making his muscles appear even more pronounced. He looked like a marble sculpture, Lambert thought to himself. How the hell was he real? How the hell had they spent the last two nights together?

He stroked himself steadily, looking at Aiden’s hand wrapped around his cock and wishing it were his own. That night at Aiden’s apartment, taking shelter from the rain—the things Aiden had made him feel—

Lambert groaned, thinking of Aiden inside him. Of how he wanted to do it again. Of how he wished it were what he was doing right now, no matter how medically inadvisable that might be.

 **[20:47] Aiden (Rose's):** Shame I’m all alone tonight…  
**[20:47] Aiden (Rose's):** Next time you come over I’ll have to have you fuck me.

Lambert read that line twice, his heart racing in his chest. Fucking Aiden also sounded good. It sounded really, really good. A thrill of anticipation shot through him, mixing with the warmth that was pooling in his abdomen in a delicious way.

 **[20:48] Lambert:** Yeah? You want me to fuck you?  
**[20:49] Aiden (Rose's):** I want to ride you…

“Shit,” Lambert groaned, sucking air through his teeth. Aiden’s weight straddling his hips. Aiden’s ass squeezing tight around his cock. Aiden’s face, red and sweaty, as he touched himself just like this. Pleasure prickled in his core as he sank into the fantasy, staring at Aiden’s photo, imagining all the ways to make him come undone.

 **[20:51] Lambert:** Fuck yes…I want that…  
**[20:52] Aiden (Rose's):** You want me to straddle you and ride you til you cum?  
**[20:52] Lambert:** God, yes  
**[20:53] Aiden (Rose's):** You want me to kiss you while you cum inside me?

Fuck. Lambert’s hand was shaking as he struggled to type out a response. Aiden beat him to the punch with another photo—his face was half-visible in this one, and he was biting his lip as he stroked himself. His cock strained against his stomach, flushed and leaking.

 **[20:57] Lambert:** I want to suck you off  
**[20:58] Lambert:** I want to taste you when you cum in my mouth  
**[21:00] Aiden (Rose's):** Shit, yes  
**[21:01] Aiden (Rose's):** You want to do it slow? You want me to fuck your mouth?

Lambert grinned, weighing his options.

 **[21:02] Lambert:** Slow  
**[21:02] Lambert:** Until you’re begging me for it  
**[21:03] Aiden (Rose's):** Oh, is it that kind of party? We’ll see who’s begging next time.

The message read like a threat, and exhilaration washed over Lambert like a wave. He wanted Aiden to make good on it. Something about the way he’d just…taken control, the last time they were together, had felt so right. Lambert wanted to experience that again. He needed to figure out exactly what kind of itch he was scratching.

Feeling bold, he snapped another picture of himself and sent it, continuing to jack himself off steadily while he waited for a reply.

 **[21:05] Aiden (Rose's):** Mmm, I like that  
**[21:05] Aiden (Rose's):** I want you just like that. I want to feel you thrusting deep inside me while I ride you…

Lambert stroked harder, imagining it. His breath came in short pants as he rode the swelling wave of pleasure in his core.

His phone buzzed. Another photo—Aiden gripping his cock tightly, rubbing the tip with his thumb as cum spilled down his fingers. Lambert’s breath hitched in his throat. He thrust into his fist, grunting, carrying himself inexorably toward the point of no return. Aiden’s thighs on either side of him. Aiden’s head tipped back as he groaned. Aiden spasming around Lambert’s cock as he came—

Lambert came with a grunt, stroking himself shakily through the aftershocks. Through the haze of tiredness that was already welling up in his brain, he took one last picture to send to Aiden and then hauled himself to the bathroom to clean up.

 **[21:08] Aiden (Rose's):** That was fun. Hope it brightened your evening a bit ;)  
**[21:09] Lambert:** Definitely. Where are you, even?  
**[21:11] Aiden (Rose's):** Dressing room at Rose’s.  
**[21:11] Lambert:** You’re crazy. What if someone walked in on you?  
**[21:13] Aiden (Rose's):** _img_

The photo was of Aiden, back in his ‘costume,’ gesturing at the empty room lined with vanities behind him.

 **[21:14] Lambert:** Point taken  
**[21:16] Aiden (Rose's):** I’ve got to shower so I can catch my train home. Text you tomorrow?

Lambert snorted. As if he was ever going to say no to that.

 **[21:17] Lambert:** Definitely  
**[21:17] Lambert:** Have a good night

The four steps from the bathroom to his bed felt like a mile. Lambert flopped face down onto the mattress and grinned into the rumpled sheets. For once, his life was going pretty great. He didn’t have a damn thing to complain about. His head didn’t even hurt.

He drifted slowly on lazy waves of contentment until he finally slipped beneath the surface and into the dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, it had been a while since I looked at this chapter and I have to say, rereading it this morning before posting, that I'm ridiculously pleased with how it came out. I hope very much that you liked it too!
> 
> Please do consider leaving me a comment if you're enjoying the story, I always love hearing your thoughts <3


	7. Stripped

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta read by [bookscorpion](https://archiveofourown/users/bookscorpion)!

It took the better part of a week before Lambert truly felt like himself again.

He hadn’t seen much of Aiden in that time—Aiden had work, as well as a life outside of Lambert, and it was a hike from Harborside to the Bits, even on the subway. Lambert had spent most of the intervening time on the couch, eating his way through a casserole that had mysteriously appeared in his fridge after Nenneke discovered he was injured. He’d cleaned up his apartment, for once, and the place looked positively inviting without all the junk and dirty clothes strewn everywhere. He’d even been burning a scented candle he’d dug out of the hall closet, so the place smelled like ‘Maribor Forest’ instead of musty funk. The next time Aiden came over, Lambert would be ready.

This was his first night back at Rose’s since the Dijkstra incident, and he was pleased to find that his head didn’t start splitting the instant the music started up. He even felt well enough for a drink, and Priscilla had obliged him with his usual vodka and Coke. She hadn’t said a thing about him shortchanging her, either—she must have felt bad for him. The bruise on his temple was still very much there, and the more it healed, the worse it looked.

Aiden wasn’t on stage tonight. Lambert caught his eye a couple of times as he wound his way through the audience, flirting and collecting tips, but Aiden was too busy to chat. It was rapidly approaching last call, anyway—Lambert figured he would hang around until the club closed, and give him a ride home if he wanted it. He sat reclining in his usual booth long after Geralt and Eskel called it a night, waiting for the crowd to thin out enough to pitch the idea.

A sudden commotion near the entrance caught his attention.

Lambert pricked up his ears, crunching the last ice cube from his empty glass. In his line of work he’d learnt pretty quickly to stay aware of his surroundings. Ignoring something like this on a job was a good way to get killed.

Never mind that the club was ostensibly under his protection. He got to his feet, stretching, and sauntered over to see what the problem was.

The trash had already taken itself out by the time he got there. The offending party, a thin man with a dark beard and sallow skin, lay bleeding on the curb.

The bouncer, whose name Lambert could never remember, stood blocking the door with his enormous frame. Lambert hadn’t gotten close enough to see his tattoos in detail before, but at this distance he could see that all of them were snakes. They wound up his arms from the wrist, writhing as he cracked his knuckles. There were cobras squeezing his biceps, and crowning his head was a striking viper. The overall effect was more than threatening.

“You’re banned,” the bouncer said evenly, “or did you forget?”

The man on the sidewalk spat blood from his split lip and snarled back at him. “We’ll see about that.”

The bouncer snorted. “Happy to go again, Karadin. I can take you to see the dumpster out back. Lovely dame. Lots of sharp edges.”

“You’re not going to be around forever—”

“—Or I could just wait for the cops t’ drag you off again,” the bouncer continued. “Is it gonna come to that?”

Karadin swore.

“Get lost.” The bouncer made a point of flashing the knife strapped to his belt.

Karadin got to his feet, flipping him and everyone else on the block the bird in the process, and shuffled off, muttering to himself.

What in the hell? Lambert cocked his head, watching him go. When the bouncer finally came back inside, Lambert sidled over to him.

“Hey, uh…”

The man turned toward him, raising an eyebrow. Lambert swallowed, only now noticing the black teardrop tattooed underneath his eye and the snakebite piercings under his lip.

“Letho.”

“Letho.” Lambert gestured at the street outside. “What was that about?”

Letho shrugged. “Eh. Some people can’t take no for’n answer.”

“Who was that guy?”

“Jad Karadin.” Letho looked like the name tasted bad in his mouth.

“What’s his deal? I didn’t think Julian banned anybody from this place.”

Letho rubbed the back of his neck. “You hang around Aiden, don’t you? Be better off asking him that. I figure it ain’t my place to say.”

“It—okay,” Lambert said, breaking off at the look on Letho’s face. Jesus, the guy was terrifying. Where the hell had Julian picked him up? “I will. Thanks.”

“Uh-huh. Dun’ mention it.” Letho sat heavily on the stool by the entrance and went back to glaring at passersby.

Lambert wandered over to the bar just in time for last call and ordered a soda. The crowd on the dance floor slowly thinned as the liquor dried up, spilling out onto the curb and into taxis and subway entrances. There were only a handful of patrons left by the time Lambert had finished his drink.

“In it for the long haul?” Aiden asked, leaning up against the bar beside Lambert with a grin.

“Thought you might like a ride home.”

“You’re sweet.” Aiden kissed him on the cheek. “It might be a while, though. Club’s closing in thirty, but I was planning on staying late to practice.”

“I don’t have anywhere to be,” Lambert said, shrugging. “Unless you’re trying to tell me to get lost.”

“Definitely not. I just don’t want to hold you up. You can stay, if you want. It should just be us, Netty, Wendy, and Carmen.”

“ ‘s long as they don’t mind me being here, I’ll stay.”

Aiden laughed. “As long as you don’t mind them, they won’t mind you. They’re used to an audience. Give me a few while we close up, okay?”

“You got it.”

Lambert waved down Priscilla for another soda and she slid a glass of Coke across the bar, taking his dollar in exchange.

“Cutting back?”

He shook his head. “Gotta drive later.”

“Good man.” She turned her back on him and started closing out her till. “Glad you’re doing better. It was strange not seeing you in here every night.”

Lambert grinned. “Don’t tell me you missed me.”

“Fine, I won’t.” She finished tallying the register and locked it up. “Bar’s closed—I’ve gotta take my till to the safe. See you later, Lambert.”

“Yeah, see you.”

Lambert couldn’t remember the last time he’d stayed at Rose’s this late. Usually, he was gone as soon as last call was over. Closing was impressively efficient—all it took to kick out the stragglers was a look from Letho, who tapped his wrist pointedly, and they scrammed. Most of the dancers vanished backstage as soon as the doors were locked. Aiden and a couple of others swept up the floors and wiped down the brass poles with alcohol. It was all over and done with in less than twenty minutes.

Lambert leaned over the bar and dropped his empty glass into the dirty dishrack under the counter. He felt like he should do that much, at least.

“Okay,” Aiden called, waving him over toward the stage. “We’re good. You can come up to the front, if you like.”

Lambert abandoned his post by the bar and walked slowly up to the stage. It was surreal, being in Rose’s after hours. The music was still playing, although it did abruptly shift to something a little softer when Netty ran up to the booth and changed the track. The lights were still on, sweeping the stage in a soft purple glow. The club was quieter than Lambert had ever experienced it, though. It was strange to look out at the audience and see no one.

He’d never been this close to the stage before. He’d never had any reason to. It was a wholly different experience from hanging out in his usual booth in the back, watching from a distance. The stools here were so close to the edge of the stage that he was practically underneath Aiden as he walked a slow circle around the pole, one hand gripping the brass.

Aiden grinned as the music swelled from the speakers, gathering speed with the beat of the song until he threw himself into a complicated invert. He caught Lambert’s eye as he spun and winked, dropping seamlessly into a new pose. His movements were effortless and fluid—Lambert couldn’t quite figure out how he got from upside down to right side up and back again, but he didn’t really need to. He was so close he could feel the heat of the stage lights. He could feel the breeze of Aiden’s leg passing just over his head. It was bizarrely intimate, despite the fact that Lambert could hear Wendy and Carmen chattering at the other end of the stage as one of them filmed the other practicing floorwork.

He was starting to understand why guys would tip out their entire wallets for something like this.

Aiden sank into a lazy spin that slowly dropped to the floor and leaned over to tap Lambert on the forehead. “What are you all starry-eyed for?”

Lambert swallowed. “You know damn well.”

“Good. I haven’t lost my touch.” Aiden grinned and wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead.

“Not that I’m complaining, but why stay late for this?”

Aiden cocked his head. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, you do this all the time, right?”

“It’s harder than it looks.” Aiden shrugged, swinging his legs over the side of the stage. “I practice pretty much every day so I don’t get rusty.”

Lambert raised an eyebrow. “Rusty? Seriously? It can’t be that bad.”

Aiden laughed. “You sure about that?”

“I mean, it’s just spinning, right? I can’t do a split, but—”

“Alright then, tough guy,” Aiden said, getting to his feet. “Let’s see you try.”

“I—huh?”

“If it’s so easy, let’s see you do it.”

Lambert shrugged. “Fine.”

He got off his stool and climbed up onto the stage, looking up at the pole.

“Nope,” Aiden said, shaking his head. “Strip.”

“What?”

“I said strip. You need bare skin to get a grip on the pole, and the metal parts of your jeans are going to scratch it up.”

Lambert let out a long-suffering sigh and pulled off his jacket, tossing it into the audience.

“That’s more like it,” Aiden said smugly, standing with folded arms as Lambert shucked off his shirt, boots, and jeans in quick order. “Go on, give it a spin.”

Lambert had realized by this point that he’d put his foot in his mouth, but he was already too committed to seeing this through to go back on it. He stepped up to the pole, reaching out to grab hold of it with one uncertain hand.

Its surface was smooth, like butter, but he still felt like he had a pretty solid grip. He walked a circle around its base, like he’d seen Aiden do, and then tried to do a spin.

That was a big mistake. The pole rotated much more easily than Lambert had anticipated, and when he threw his weight into the spin he nearly sent himself flying. He managed to hang on, but only just. Trying to save it, he attempted to hook the pole with his knee, but before he could register what was happening he was on his ass on the worn boards of the stage.

Aiden threw back his head and laughed. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

Lambert’s face burned as he realized he had attracted an audience. Carmen, Wendy, and Netty were all watching, and he could hear them giggling even from the other side of the stage. He put his head in his hands and shot Aiden a sidelong glance.

“I admit it, okay?” He groaned. “It’s harder than it looks.”

Aiden grinned. “Want me to actually teach you a move?”

“Why not.” Lambert threw up his hands. “I’m already basically naked, anyway.”

He shifted out of the way as Aiden moved in towards the pole, grabbing it high above his head and falling backward into a lazy spin, one knee hooked around the pole.

“This is a pretty basic pose,” Aiden said as he rotated. “All you have to do is lean back, and grip with your leg as your momentum carries you. Here, you try.”

Lambert wasn’t any more enthused about spinning backwards than he had been about his last experience, but he stepped up nonetheless.

“Make your grip a little higher,” Aiden prompted. “Good. Now fall—”

Lambert felt less than graceful doing it, but at least he didn’t fall off. He grimaced as he slowly rotated, wondering how Aiden could take so much weight on his shoulder.

Aiden nodded approvingly. “Straighten your other leg, and point your toes. It looks cleaner.”

Lambert did his best, grimacing as his momentum slowed to a stop.

“Not bad,” Aiden said with a smile. “We’ll make a stripper of you yet.”

“That’ll be the day,” a voice said from the audience. “I didn’t think you were interested in this aspect of my business, Lambert.”

“Fuck off, Julian,” Lambert growled as he dismounted the pole.

Aiden laughed. “We were just messing around.”

“Whatever you say,” Julian laughed. “If you ever decide you want to dance, you’re welcome to do it here. I always saw you as more of the punching type, though.”

Lambert ignored him and went to go find his pants. He returned to the stage when he was done getting dressed to find Aiden and Julian deep in discussion, but they stopped talking as soon as he got there.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Aiden said, waving him off. “I think we’re just going to call it a night a little early. Mind waiting while I get dressed? It should just be a minute.”

“Sure.”

Aiden was back shortly, dressed in his street clothes but still speckled with glitter. He sidled up to Lambert, raising an eyebrow. “Shall we?”

✴

The sky was clear that night, and as Lambert drove down deserted streets from Lacehalls to Harborside with Aiden’s arms wrapped around his waist he could taste the tang of brackish water on the breeze.

Aiden invited Lambert in when they pulled up outside his building, and Lambert readily accepted. After he was satisfied his bike was locked up safely in Aiden’s little garage, the two of them rode the freight elevator up to the top floor.

The apartment was just as Lambert remembered it—open, cozy, industrial. Nicer than his own by a mile, though he was growing less self-conscious about that. Above all, it was Aiden. It smelled like him. It felt like him. Lambert sank into the worn leather sofa and sighed, breathing in the subtle scent of coffee and juniper and sea air.

“Thanks for giving me a lift,” Aiden said, settling down beside him. “You probably had other shit to do.”

Lambert snorted. “You know I don’t.”

“And,” Aiden continued, his fingers straying toward the hem of Lambert’s shirt. “I’m off for the next couple of days…”

“Rose’s closed?”

“Rented out, for a bachelor party. No need for me or Cedric or Guillaume this weekend.”

Lambert grinned. “I like the sound of that.”

“Do you have anywhere to be tomorrow?”

“ ‘Course not.”

“Good.” Aiden leaned in, his lips brushing softly against Lambert’s. “Stay the night?”

“Like I’m ever going to say no to that.”

Aiden kissed him and Lambert sank into it, relishing the soft scrape of his stubble and the warmth of his breath. Heat pooled in his chest as Aiden pulled him closer, cupping his face with one hand to deepen the kiss. Lambert hadn’t expected this of Aiden, especially so late at night, but he would be lying if he said he hadn’t hoped. The things Aiden did to him were unlike any other partner he’d ever had. It felt sometimes like he would never be satisfied.

The two of them pulled apart, Aiden’s emerald eyes heavily lidded, and Lambert sighed. Something was itching him, at the back of his mind—a question, half-forgotten, that still wanted to be asked. He grasped at it mentally, trying to remember.

“Who’s Jad Karadin?” he asked as Aiden sat up to take off his shirt.

Aiden’s fingers froze on the top button. “What?”

“Jad Karadin. Letho told me to ask you about him.”

“I…how much did he say?”

Lambert shook his head. “Nothing, really. He said it wasn’t his place.”

“…I see.” Aiden leaned forward, putting his face in his hands. “So you saw him, then.”

“I saw Letho introducing his face to the curb.”

“I should’ve known he would start coming around again,” Aiden muttered.

Lambert held up a placating hand. “Listen, I—shit, okay. I just wanted to know what was going on.”

He could feel Aiden withdrawing, and the fact that he didn’t understand why made it harder to cope with the way the warmth was leaching out of the space between them.

Aiden groaned into his hands. “It’s a long, ugly story.”

“Try me.”

“I…okay, look.” Aiden took a deep breath and sat up, looking Lambert in the eyes. “He’s…he used to come around the club a lot. He was a good tipper, so everyone liked him. They’d slip him a drink here, a free dance there…” He shook his head. “And then he started getting handsy. Pushy. He’d do it to Cedric and Guillaume too, but I got the worst of it. He’d get jealous when he saw me with other guys. He couldn’t take no for an answer, and when I told him I wasn’t doing private dances for him anymore he got violent. It was…a whole thing. The cops got called, he got arrested, I ended up with a black eye and a broken wrist. Julian banned him from the club.”

Aiden rubbed at his wrist as he spoke, almost unconsciously. “He started turning up after hours after that. He’d be standing in the alley behind the club, waiting for me to come out. He’d be on the platform at the subway because he knew what train I was going to take home. Stuff like that. He never tried anything with people around, but…”

“He’s a stalker.”

“…yeah. That would be the simple way of putting it.”

Something fell into place in Lambert’s head. “So the first time I picked you up, when Letho—?”

Aiden nodded. “I told you, he was just looking out for me.”

“Christ.” Lambert ran a hand through his hair, hissing through his teeth.

“It’s been a few weeks since I’ve seen him around.” Aiden looked away. “I had hoped…well, I knew in my heart of hearts that it wasn’t over, but I had hoped you wouldn’t have to find out about him.”

“The shitty things in our pasts always out themselves eventually,” Lambert said with a sigh. “It’s bitten me in the ass more than once. I’m not sorry for bringing it up. I’m glad you told me.”

“It doesn’t bother you?”

“Oh, believe me, it pisses me the hell off. If I ever wind up face to face with the guy I’ll probably kick his ass.”

“Please don’t.” Aiden smiled sadly. “I didn’t mean him so much as me.”

“Fuck him. What, you think I’m gonna want to stop seeing you now?”

“It’s…been an issue before. With my ex.”

“I’m not your ex.”

“I know that. I know. I still have to ask.”

“Aiden,” Lambert said seriously. “Listen, I…don’t really date. I have a hard enough time keeping my shit together as it is. Working for the mob is dangerous. The best I can usually manage is a hookup. So you’ve got to understand—I wouldn’t be following you around like a lost puppy if I didn’t really fucking like you. This doesn’t change that.”

Aiden laughed and wiped his eyes. “I really fucking like you too.”

There was a moment of awkward silence as the two of them faced one another, unsure of where to go from here. Lambert surprised himself by making the first move, holding out an arm so that Aiden could settle in against him.

They stayed there, wrapped up in one another, as the heavy moon sank ever further toward the horizon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so Karadin finally rears his ugly head~
> 
> Strangely, Letho has become one of my favorite parts of this AU. He plays a small role but he's so fun to write! I hope you're enjoying it so far, I'd love to hear what you think <3


	8. Oranges and Tangerines

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta read by [bookscorpion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookscorpion)!

Lambert awoke disoriented in Aiden’s bed, the sun shining down through the skylight directly into his eyes.

He threw an arm over his face, blocking out the light, and groaned. The memory of waking on the couch, Aiden in his arms, and blearily dragging himself up to bed floated in a half-remembered haze, as if he’d experienced it in a dream. Aiden was still there, though, curled up against him, and as Lambert shifted under the covers he stirred and opened his eyes.

“Good morning,” he murmured softly, reaching out to brush Lambert’s hair back from his forehead.

“Morning,” Lambert sighed, committing to being awake despite his best efforts.

“I’m gonna shower. I really need it.” Aiden leaned forward and kissed Lambert softly on the forehead, and the simple tenderness of the gesture bled through Lambert’s sleep-heavy body like the heat of the morning sun. “Back in a few minutes.”

Aiden slipped out of bed, and Lambert groaned at the loss of his warmth. The bathroom door clicked shut behind him a moment later, and the sound of running water trickled through the wall.

Lambert rolled over and scrolled drowsily through his phone while he waited, marking notifications as read without really processing what they said. He was reasonably sure he didn’t have anyplace to be today, at least. The only job they’d managed to pick up last night was a small shakedown, and Geralt and Eskel definitely didn’t need his help for that.

He had managed to sit up in bed, at least, by the time Aiden had finished in the shower and reappeared, curls damp and face flushed, to toss Lambert a towel.

“Your turn. There’s soap and stuff in the shower, feel free to use whatever.”

“Thanks.” Lambert stretched and swung his legs out of bed.

“Coffee?”

“Yes. For sure.”

“You got it.” Aiden bent down to kiss him, soft and still shower-warm, and Lambert sighed into it. “It’ll be ready by the time you’re done.”

The bathroom was thick with steam when Lambert stepped into it, and the water took no time at all to heat up as he stepped into the shower.

There was some small thrill in lathering himself with Aiden’s soap and salon-branded shampoo, which were both miles nicer than the products in Lambert’s own bathroom. It was like being wrapped up in Aiden, as if he’d never left the bed, enveloped in his scent and the sensation of his touch. Lambert luxuriated in it, even though he knew he should probably try to keep this short. It wasn’t often opportunities like this came along.

He shut off the water reluctantly as it began to grow cold and toweled himself off, wrapping it around his waist and heading downstairs to meet Aiden in the kitchen.

The welcome scent of coffee permeated the air, and Lambert accepted a mug gratefully as Aiden poured it from the French press. They’d had a late night. He’d been having a lot of late nights lately, especially where Aiden was involved. Not that he was complaining.

He sat at the island beside Aiden and helped himself to the bowl of peeled orange segments that was set between them. The fruit burst in his mouth, tart and cold from the fridge, all the more satisfying for its contrast to the heat of the shower, which still permeated his skin. Lambert took a sip of his coffee and reached out to steal another as Aiden pushed the bowl his way.

“Do you have any plans for today?” Aiden asked idly, scrolling through his phone.

Lambert shook his head, rushing to swallow his mouthful of orange. “Not a damn thing. Did you have something in mind?”

Aiden shrugged. “Stay in, make some curry, maybe watch a movie?”

“That sounds good to me, but you should know I can’t cook for shit.”

“Somehow I’m not surprised.” Aiden laughed. “You can help chop vegetables, at least.”

Lambert was reasonably certain he wouldn’t mess that up. “Sure.”

“It’s a date, then,” Aiden said with a smile.

That sent a little burst of adrenaline through Lambert, even though he’d slept here overnight and just gotten done stealing half of Aiden’s breakfast. There was something so lovely about hearing those words from Aiden’s lips, as a confirmation that he actually _did_ want Lambert here, taking up space in his apartment, and it wasn’t something he’d just made up in his head.

“Sure,” he replied, grinning stupidly. “It’s a date.”

The bowl of orange segments emptied itself in short order, as did their coffee mugs. Lambert was content for the moment to simply sit with Aiden, forearms resting on the cool marble countertop, and bask in the sun that filtered in through the leaded glass of the windows. It was the kind of morning that seemed to last forever. Lambert sank into it in contentment, enjoying the softness that was so unmistakably _Aiden._ There was nowhere else he’d rather be.

Aiden fit into the space around him as naturally as if someone had painted him there, chin resting in his hand in the light of the morning. The golden sun caught hold of his curls, which shone like burnished copper, and for the first time Lambert noticed a faint scattering of freckles across his cheekbones. He was perfection in that moment; better than any magazine model or porn star Lambert had ever seen.

Aiden turned to him, one eyebrow slightly raised. “What are you thinking about?”

Lambert felt his face go hot and kicked himself mentally. Of course he’d been staring.

Laughing, Aiden leaned in to kiss him. There was a spark when their lips met, stronger by far than static electricity, which spread through Lambert’s body, tangling up in his desire. He couldn’t help but deepen the kiss. He couldn’t help but to melt into Aiden, who tasted of oranges and tangerines and was soft and impossibly warm against his lips. He couldn’t help but breathe in that melancholic juniper scent of him, wishing he could drown in it.

Aiden’s hand was on the back of his neck. Lambert’s hand trailed down Aiden’s chest, though he couldn’t remember consciously reaching out for him. The rational, anxious parts of his brain had already shut down in sequence. There was nothing left but Aiden, and the desire to be closer to him. To taste him. To feel his touch.

Breathlessly, Aiden pulled away. “Do you want to go upstairs?”

It was all Lambert could do to simply nod and follow, warmth blooming in his core as Aiden loosely intertwined his fingers with Lambert’s own and led him up the stairs to the loft. They fell to the bed, tangled up in each other on top of the rumpled duvet, cast in gold by the sun filtering in through the skylight.

Save for the towel only tenuously hanging on to his waist, Lambert wasn’t wearing anything at all. Aiden wasn’t far behind him in that respect, and the thin cotton pajama bottoms he was wearing left very little to the imagination as Lambert settled on top of him. He could feel the warmth of Aiden’s skin against his thigh, and as he bore down against Aiden’s stiffening cock the other man groaned deep in his throat.

Lambert grinned.

Aiden pulled him down into a kiss and nipped at Lambert’s bottom lip. “You had said you wanted to taste me…”

“Fuck,” Lambert breathed. “Yes.”

His hands wandered down Aiden’s chest until his fingers reached the waist of his pants, tugging them down his hips. He sat back on his heels, shuffling out of the way so Aiden could shuck them the rest of the way off.

Aiden looked amazing in this light, exhilarated and flushed, propped up on his elbows, his cock hard against his stomach. There was anticipation in his eyes as he gazed at Lambert, inviting him to make his move.

Lambert almost forgot to breathe as he settled down between Aiden’s thighs, his cock trapped between his body and the rumpled bedsheets. Aiden bit his lip as Lambert reached out to take him in hand, and as Lambert looked up at him he thought to himself that he couldn’t imagine him looking any more perfect. He was a treasure of precious gold and emeralds, wreathed by the morning sun, and he was all Lambert’s. The thought was thrilling.

Promises made a week ago through late-night text messages were suddenly at the forefront of his mind. He did want to taste Aiden, true, but Aiden had also mentioned Lambert fucking him, hadn’t he?

He swallowed. One thing at a time.

Aiden’s skin was velvety soft as Lambert brushed his lips across the tip of his cock. Beneath his splayed fingertips, the muscles of Aiden’s thighs were tense with anticipation. They tremored as Lambert opened his mouth and licked with a flat tongue—slowly, savoring the saline sting of him. Aiden’s hand was in his hair an instant later, and his fingers fisted suddenly in Lambert’s locks when Lambert dipped his head to swallow him.

The choked gasp that forced its way up Aiden’s throat was music to Lambert’s ears. The last time they had done this, their positions reversed, he definitely had not been the one in control of the situation. As much as he had enjoyed it at the time, it was nice to turn that around on Aiden, to be the one who set the pace while Aiden could only groan and swear. Which he did, vehemently, as Lambert swallowed his full length, his nose buried in the soft hair at the base of Aiden’s cock.

Lambert pulled back and did it again. He was enjoying this a hell of a lot. Sucking dick wasn’t something he could really go around bragging about, but privately he’d always felt he was pretty good at it, and it was nice to have confirmation in the way Aiden seemed to be having trouble holding himself still. His hand was fisted tight in Lambert’s hair, tugging hard at the roots, and every breath was half a moan.

It was fun, watching him come undone like this. So much so that Lambert felt a twinge of dismay when Aiden gripped him by the shoulder and pushed him away.

“You’re way too good at that,” he explained, red and panting, as Lambert glanced up with a raised eyebrow. “So unless you want me to come right now…”

Lambert was suddenly very aware of his own neglected cock, throbbing between his thighs, and felt rather torn. “What did you have in mind?”

Aiden glanced significantly at the bedside table.

Lambert swallowed. “I’m—yeah. I mean yes. Sure.”

He sat back on his heels as Aiden leaned over to retrieve the condoms and lube, hands pressed against his thighs to stifle their trembling. Christ, what was he so worked up about? It was just a fuck. It was nothing he hadn’t done a hundred times before.

Except that he hadn’t with Aiden. And that his heart skipped a beat when Aiden tossed the foil square of the condom across the bed toward him. Lambert picked it up gingerly, looking to Aiden for confirmation. _Are you sure? This is really what you want?_

Aiden glanced at him and laughed. “I said I wanted you to fuck me, didn’t I?”

Lambert definitely wasn’t going to turn the opportunity down, but he still fumbled the wrapper when he tried to tear it. His hands felt clumsy as he rolled on the condom and stroked himself roughly with a dollop of lube. Aiden was so much more graceful than him, even in bed. He always managed to look sexy no matter what he was doing.

Aiden beckoned, grinning, and patted the bed beside him. Lambert obeyed without even thinking about it, stretching out beside where he knelt on the rumpled duvet.

“Do you still want me to ride you?”

Lambert tried to respond, but his voice got tangled up in his throat somewhere. He nodded vehemently instead, gritting his teeth in anticipation as Aiden straddled him. The light from above framed him so nicely, casting long shadows down his body. He didn’t look quite real.

The weight of him was very real, though, as he settled down against Lambert’s hips. The warmth of him was real, as he reached behind him to take Lambert’s sheathed cock in hand and line it up with his body. Lambert groaned deep in his throat as Aiden slowly sank onto his cock, eyebrows knit in concentration, still biting his lip. The sudden heat and pressure of him was a shock to his system. Whereas before Lambert would have been content to simply watch Aiden as he sucked him off, now he was acutely aware of how much he needed this. How much he had been wanting it all week, without being able to put the vague frustration in his body to words.

The resistance of Aiden’s body as he slowly matched his thrust was all the sweeter for the little grunt of pleasure that fell from Aiden’s lips in response. Lambert grit his teeth, forcing himself to hold still, to let Aiden set the pace.

Aiden’s fingertips, when he reached out to steady himself on Lambert’s chest, burned like pokers. _“Relax,”_ he prompted, smoothing his hand down Lambert’s stomach.

That was easier said than done. Lambert groaned as Aiden rocked back against him, torn between the desire to let Aiden do whatever he wanted to him and the impulse to let his own instincts take over and fuck him senseless. He landed somewhere between the two, as his hands found their way to Aiden’s hips and Aiden bent down to kiss him ever so softly. He lingered when they broke apart, pressing his forehead against Lambert’s, sharing the warmth of the morning sunlight. His short beard brushed softly against Lambert’s cheek, and Lambert leaned into the contact.

It was simultaneously too much and not enough. Lambert felt as if the fire smoldering within him were going to flare up and consume him entirely. The sounds Aiden made only fanned the flames. The little gasps, the groans, right in Lambert’s ear. The way he blushed halfway down his chest when they were together like this. The infinitesimally small bump of the line work of his tattoo under Lambert’s fingers when he wrapped his arms around Aiden and pulled him close. That was what he really needed, he came to realize. The visual of Aiden straddling him, cock erect and straining, was deeply appealing, but what he really wanted was his touch. Suddenly he came to understand why people called it making love.

One of Aiden’s hands cupped Lambert’s face, holding him close, deepening the kiss when Lambert blindly felt out for it once more. The other forced its way awkwardly between their bodies, taking his cock in hand and stroking in rhythm with his thrusts.

“Just like that,” Aiden gasped as Lambert shifted, pulling in his legs for a better angle. “Just—fuck, don’t stop—”

As if that were possible, as if Lambert were anything approaching capable of stopping when Aiden looked like that and sounded like that and felt like that, grinding against him, his ass impossibly tight around Lambert’s cock—

Aiden came with a low moan, hot droplets of cum spilling down his fingers onto Lambert’s stomach as his body spasmed around him. The sensation of it, of the warmth of Aiden’s breath against his throat, of Aiden’s fingers digging into his skin as he chased his pleasure, was too much for Lambert to fight. He only succeeded in staving it off for a few seconds before he was coming too, breath ragged in his throat, arms wrapped so tightly around Aiden that he felt dimly he must be suffocating him. He didn’t manage to loosen his grip for almost a minute, though.

When Aiden pulled away, his eyes were soft and full of affection. That sent a pang through Lambert’s chest. Was that really for him? Did he even deserve it, after the life he’d lived?

Did it even matter?

He kissed Aiden once more, as tenderly as he could manage, trying to put the gist of his feelings into the gesture because there was no way in hell he could put them into words.

Aiden seemed to understand.

They had made a mess of the sheets, which became clear when they separated, and both of them were streaked with sweat. Aiden laughed, wiping a droplet away from his forehead with the back of his hand.

“I really hate to say this…but I think I need another shower.”

Lambert nodded slowly, closing his eyes.

“Sorry.” Aiden leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “There’s another bathroom downstairs if you need it before I’m done.”

“Mm.”

Lambert almost fell asleep before the shower squeaked on, and the sound of running water through the wall was a lullaby in and of itself. He only managed to pull himself out of bed because the stickiness and slime of the condom were bordering on unbearable, and he needed to deal with it before he made even more of a mess than he had already.

He stumbled downstairs, feeling incredibly exposed by the tall front windows, and managed on his second try to find the bathroom. It was just a half bath; smaller than the one upstairs, but it had everything he needed to clean up for now. He didn’t think he’d make it through another shower.

As he reached for the towel to dry his hands, he caught a proper glance at the painting that was hung beside the mirror. It was somewhat vague; a blend of watercolor and heavy black ink, but it _was_ unmistakably of a man. He was kneeling, his arms behind his back, and bound in an intricately woven web of cord and knots. The scene was cast in shadow, swept through with black ink bleeding into the grey of the background.

Aiden’s name was scrawled in the lower right hand corner. That was right—he had said he painted, hadn’t he? That conversation felt like a lifetime ago.

Lambert filed it away in the back of his mind to ask about later before flopping onto the couch and sinking into a heavy haze of sleep.

✴

It was a lazy day, and much to Lambert’s pleasure, it seemed to go on forever. He and Aiden lazed about, drifting between the bed and the sofa and the kitchen island, chatting idly as the sun traveled across the sky. Aiden made a batch of Bloody Marys, and to Lambert’s surprise he found he actually liked his. Lambert helped chop vegetables for curry, and somehow managed not to fuck things up in the process. He luxuriated in the scent of spices that permeated the apartment, as good as any restaurant he’d been to lately, as Aiden stirred and tasted and dumped in ingredients seemingly with no regard for measurements.

They settled in on the couch when it was ready and sat through a rerun of an 80s classic Lambert had nearly forgotten by now, and by the time their bowls were scraped clean, they had melted into each others’ space so comfortably Lambert could hardly remember being separate. It was nice, beyond nice, to lie down together like this, Aiden curled up against his chest.

He had to chase the thought around in his brain for a while before he could grasp it firmly, too weighed down by the food and the warmth and the smell of Aiden’s cologne.

“Who’s that painting in the bathroom of?” he said finally, having finally managed to pin it down long enough to articulate the question.

“Kiyan,” Aiden replied, pulling himself closer to Lambert on the limited real estate of the sofa. “One of my exes.”

“Huh.” Lambert let that marinate for a moment. “You painted it, though?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“It’s good. I could never make something like that.”

“Thank you.”

They laid there a moment longer, as Lambert turned the image over in his head.

“He’s all tied up.”

Aiden laughed. “Yeah. I guess he is.”

“Is…” Lambert reconsidered, tried again. “Uh—”

“You’re trying to ask if I’m the one who tied him up?” Aiden grinned, looking up at Lambert. “Yeah, I did.”

“Is that…what you’re into?”

“It’s a kink.” Aiden shrugged. “It’s called shibari. I do like it, but I don’t…if you’re asking me because you think you have to do that to be with me, the answer is no. I don’t need to tie someone up to be satisfied.”

“I guess I’m just trying to understand the appeal? It’s not something I’ve really thought about before.”

Aiden hummed thoughtfully. “It’s…complicated. Part of it is about trust and control. And intimacy, too—you would be surprised how intimate binding someone can be. And there’s the visual appeal, and the physical sensation of being restrained if you’re the one being bound.” He smoothed a hand over his beard. “I enjoy weaving the harnesses, too. The knots can be so intricate—it’s almost like solving a puzzle. Some people consider it an art form.”

“Yeah,” Lambert admitted, “it does sound complicated. Most of that went over my head.”

Aiden laughed. “You never know, you might like it.”

“Maybe. Who knows.”

“Like I said, don’t feel obligated. But if it ever _is_ something you’d like to try, I’m happy to help.”

Lambert wasn’t sure how he felt about it. He wasn’t a prude by any means, but he’d also never put much thought to this kind of thing. The nearest he’d ever come to the kink scene, aside from an inordinate amount of time spent hanging out in strip clubs, was walking past the Bastoy clubhouse on his way to the metro stop at the end of Glory Lane. He’d never gone inside, but he’d always been generally aware of its presence. It seemed to do good business—at least as good as Rose’s—but that was about all he knew.

This was something he was going to have to think about for a while. At least Aiden didn’t seem to have any problem with that. He lay curled up against Lambert as the TV started playing the flop sequel to the movie they had been watching, and hummed appreciatively when Lambert put an arm around him and pulled him closer.

Something else occurred to Lambert about ten minutes into the film, and knocked him mentally off-balance.

“Hey.”

Aiden raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“We…are we dating?”

Aiden threw back his head and laughed. “What else would you call this?”

“I dunno. I hadn’t thought about it.” Lambert’s face burned.

“I…would say we’re dating. Yes.” Aiden chuckled and wiped his eye.

“Well damn.”

“What?”

“Been a while since I had a boyfriend.” _And I’m pretty sure I don’t remember how to be one._

“Me too.” Aiden leaned in and kissed him softly. “Try not to think about it too much.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“In the meantime…” Aiden continued, “if you’re staying the night…”

“Yeah?”

Aiden glanced meaningfully at the stairs. “I could go for another round.”

Lambert grinned. “Yeah?”

“After you.” There was a twinkle in Aiden’s eye.

Lambert nearly forgot about his troubles as he ran up the stairs with Aiden hot on his heels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tfw your kinky watercolors out you to your new boyfriend
> 
> I hope y'all enjoyed the chapter! This is one I really loved working on. I want to stretch out on Aiden's couch and just watch the ships being loaded at the harbor...


	9. False Flag

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta read by [bookscorpion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookscorpion)!

“Loosen up,” Eskel said affably to Lambert as the train briefly flashed into the daylight between tunnels. “It’s just a job.”

Lambert rolled his eyes and leaned back against the divider to brace himself as the driver slowed for a turn. Sure. Just a job. A job for a man whose hobby was dissolving people in acid. “You know how I feel about working for Emreis.”

“He pays well.” Eskel shrugged. “ ‘sides, it isn’t that different from doing Aretuza’s heavy lifting.”

“Philippa’s not liable to kill us if the job goes sideways.”

“Neither is Emhyr. He’s smart. He isn’t looking for a war.”

“If you say so.” Lambert crammed his hands in his pockets and sighed through his teeth. “Whatever happened to Geralt, anyway?”

“Yen needed him for something. He’ll catch up with us later.”

Lambert rolled his eyes. _“Something.”_

The train’s wheels screeched as they pulled into the station.

“C’mon,” Eskel said as the doors slid open. “Time’s wasting.”

Their destination was in the museum district, on the border of Hauteville and Gildorf, in the no-man’s-land between Philippa’s turf and Emhyr’s. Lambert blinked against the sunlight that showered down through the yellowing leaves of the trees that lined the streets above the station as the two of them rode the escalator up, glancing around to make sure they weren’t being followed. Emreis’s job offers were always ridiculously clandestine. He ran a tight ship, and anyone with a loose tongue quickly found it chopped off.

Lambert wished he were at Keira’s apartment in Gran’place instead. Mafia work was always more palatable when it came served with a side of expensive alcohol and a pleasant view.

Emhyr’s cronies never met them in the same place twice. That was inconvenient, too—Lambert was willing to bet decent money that he and Eskel had just schlepped halfway across the city just to be told to turn around and handle a problem in the Bits or Old Vizima. That was always how things went with them.

The designated rendezvous, this time, was the impressionist gallery of one of the statelier art museums on the square. Lambert and Eskel loitered near a large painting depicting a river at night as the sparse crowd of museum-goers slowly moved through the exhibit, doing their best to look as inconspicuous as it was possible for two men of their degree of dishevelment to look in a place like this.

“Starry Night Over the Pontar,” a man’s pinched voice said from over Lambert’s shoulder. “One of Van Rogh’s greatest works.”

“I’m not here for an art lesson, Mererid,” Lambert replied testily.

The newcomer was an older man, dressed in black from head to toe, as Emhyr’s lackeys always were. His grey curls were slicked back from his face with so much gel Lambert could practically taste it, and despite the fact that he was a few inches shorter than Lambert, he always gave the impression that he was looking down his nose at him. A haughty, withering attitude that befit Emhyr var Emreis’s right hand man.

“Don’t mind him.” Eskel shot a warning glance in Lambert’s direction. “He has a concussion. Keeps forgetting his manners.”

Lambert glared at him, but took the hint.

Mererid dusted his lapel and sighed. “The imperator wishes you to collect something for him.”

Lambert raised an eyebrow. “Smash and grab?”

“Asset retrieval.” Mererid looked as if Lambert’s tone had somehow managed to ruffle his feathers. “A woman. She goes by the name of Carthia van Canten.”

“Carthia…” Eskel hummed to himself. “Now that rings a bell. I thought she belonged to Aretuza.”

“And so, one would assume, did they. It would seem that Miss van Canten has been playing both sides against the middle.”

“And I’m guessing your boss isn’t having us get her so he can ask her on a date,” Lambert muttered.

“You would be correct. The imperator wishes a word with her, in private.”

“As long as she’s in one piece afterward. Fine.”

“It must suffice.” Mererid sighed wearily and handed Eskel a calling card, embossed in silver and black. “Please, give her this. I believe she drinks at the Clever Clogs, in Hauteville.”

Eskel nodded. “We’ll get it done.”

“Do not be overlong,” Mererid warned, turning sharply on his heel. “The imperator does not like to be kept waiting.”

✴

“Don’t look so sour,” Eskel prodded as the two of them walked down the street. “ ’s not like he asked us to deliver her in pieces.”

Lambert jammed his hands in his jacket pockets. “Who knows with them? I don’t know this chick. I just don’t want to turn on the news next week and see them fishing her out of the Pontar.”

“You think I do?” Eskel laughed. “Lighten up, Lambert. This is the easiest money we’ve made in a while. You’ve done worse for Aretuza just in the last week.”

“Can’t fault you there,” Lambert muttered.

His fingers closed on a scrap of paper in his jacket pocket. He crumpled it, trying to remember what it was. A package slip? A receipt from the bodega?

No, he realized with regret a moment later—it was Aiden’s note, the one with his number on it from the first night they met. He smoothed the scrap back out and tucked it deep into the jacket’s lining, against the ridge of the seam. There was really no reason to keep it, since Aiden’s number was already programmed into his phone, but nonetheless he couldn’t bring himself to leave it balled up like a dirty straw wrapper.

The boutique shops and bakeries of Hauteville slowly slid by as Lambert and Eskel walked down the sidewalk. Their destination was off the beaten path, but not so much that there were no other travelers. The Monnart brothers, proprietors of the Clever Clogs, did a steady trade. No matter how tough times got, there was always a market for alcohol, and when the three of them actually bothered working together they were geniuses at the still. The rest of the time…well. Lambert and the others had been contracted to help them settle business disputes more than once. If the cognac weren’t so good, he might have been tempted to take Lucien and Auguste up on the hits they kept trying to put out on each other.

Fortunately, the distillery’s owners were too busy antagonizing each other to notice Lambert and Eskel entering, so they managed to dodge the typical violent display of brotherly affection for the day.

Despite the ubiquitous bickering, the Clogs was a popular place to drink for Hauteville’s residents. The Monnarts had gone hard in the opposite direction of most of the craft distillers and brewmeisters in the city, cramming their shop full of mismatched furniture, rugs, and shelves of paperbacks. The antique record player in the corner was usually spinning warm jazz, and today was no exception. The overall effect was cozy, and even Lambert had to admit the execution was clever. The shop had basically become the neighborhood’s living room over the years, and as a result they did good business.

A number of patrons occupied the various couches and cushions today, sipping from snifters of cognac and brandy. Lambert and Eskel quickly discounted most of them as irrelevant to the job. It wasn’t difficult to locate Carthia van Canten amid the couples engaged in hushed conversations and scattered businessmen and writers engrossed in their laptops. She sat alone, sipping from a crystal snifter full of rust-colored liquor, black hair swept back into a low knot and lips painted deep red. The ghost of a smile crossed them as the Wolves approached.

“Miss van Canten,” Eskel greeted her.

“Mm.” She cocked her head, gaze flicking up and down as she sized the two of them up. The black makeup smudged around her eyes made their bottle green appear all the brighter. “Emhyr or Aretuza?”

“The former.”

“Finally.” She sipped from her glass and sighed. “I had begun to give up hope.”

Lambert blinked. “Scuse me?”

Carthia laughed. “You don’t really think I’m this sloppy, do you? Being a double agent is tiresome. If they noticed me, it’s only because I wanted them to.”

“Pretty ballsy, toying with Emhyr like that.”

“It was a calculated risk.” She took another sip. “This is excellent, by the way—have you tried it? Blood orange infusion. Hugo’s latest.”

Lambert frowned. “I don’t get it.”

“Very simply: I’ve grown bored. Frankly, I’m wasted in my current role. You boys”—Carthia gestured at Lambert and Eskel—“are my ticket up.”

“And how exactly do you figure that’s gonna work out for you?”

She chuckled. “I shall make our dear imperator an offer he can’t refuse.”

“Yeah. Good luck with that.” Lambert shook his head in disbelief.

Eskel shrugged. “Fine by me. Easier by far if you’re gonna come willingly.”

“Certainly.” Carthia drained her glass and placed it delicately on the table in front of her. “Shall we go?”

Clouds were rolling in from the east as the three of them stepped out into the street. Lambert fiddled with the scrap of paper in his pocket, looking back at Eskel.

“Where are we supposed to take her, anyway?”

“Oh, yeah.” Eskel dug in his pocket, pulled out the embossed card, and handed it to Carthia. “S’posed to give you this.”

“Much obliged.” She plucked it from his outstretched fingers and read it with interest. “Giancardi Bank. Interesting choice.” She hummed. “Gentlemen, I appreciate you coming all this way, but I’d prefer not to be escorted in chains. I shall make my own way.”

“Pretty sure Mererid wanted us to—” Eskel began, but Lambert cut him off.

“Let her go. If she wants to serve herself up like a Christmas goose, it’s her business. Besides”—he thumbed through his phone, holding up the screen so Eskel could see the bank notification—“He paid us in advance.”

Eskel sighed. “Say what you will about the guy. He’s efficient as hell.”

All of Emhyr’s cronies were like that. Which, now that Lambert thought about it, was probably the reason the business side of his organization ran as well as it did. It was a wonder Mererid and the others hadn’t all collapsed under the weight of their own collective anal-retentiveness by this point.

“Since it seems there are no objections, I’ll be going.” Carthia blew a kiss to the two of them as she turned and stalked off in the direction of Gildorf. “Ciao!”

Lambert watched her go, shaking his head. “Some people.”

“Hope it works out for her.” Eskel shrugged. “Easiest job we’ve had in a long time. What d’you want to do with the rest of the day?”

Lambert nodded in the direction of the Clogs. “Get drunk?”

“Now you’re speakin’ my language.”

✴

Several hours and a flight of specialty cognacs later, Lambert parted ways with Eskel. The two of them took different metro lines from the hub in Gran’place—Eskel the Orange, bound for Shani’s townhouse in Saint Sebastian, and Lambert the Blue, headed back toward the Bits and a much-needed evening spent curled up on his couch.

Lambert’s head buzzed pleasantly as he stood on the platform, leather jacket pulled tight around his body against the chill of the evening air. The rain still had yet to start, but over the course of the afternoon the threat had turned into a promise. Nenneke would probably be happy—she had been complaining all week that there hadn’t been enough rainfall lately to keep the garden going. Chances were pretty good that she was finally going to make good on her threat to have him help her put in a sprinkler system sooner or later.

Annoyance at that thought took up so much of his sluggish brain that Lambert didn’t notice the man approaching until they collided with one another.

“Hey, watch it—!” he snapped, stumbling backwards. “You—oh, what the hell?”

Lambert’s bleary vision resolved into Jad Karadin’s sallow face. The man looked positively unhinged. There was no way this was a chance encounter—Karadin had definitely bumped into him on purpose. As for how he’d known he would find Lambert here…well, Lambert didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t often travel in this direction, so who knew how long Karadin had been tailing him.

“Want a word with you,” Karadin snarled, reaching out to pull Lambert aside.

Lambert swatted his arm away. “I’m not going anywhere with you. Spit it out or go fuck yourself.”

“I know you’ve been with Aiden,” Karadin hissed. “I’ve seen you hanging around his apartment. I’m going to give you one warning—just one. Leave him alone. He’s _mine.”_

Lambert made a fist so tight his knuckles turned white. “Or what?”

Karadin laughed, leaning in so close Lambert could smell his sour breath. “Or I’ll kill you.”

_You’ve got to be fucking kidding me._ Lambert shoved him away, hard. “Fuck off before I kick your ass.”

“Big words for such a little man.” Karadin sneered.

Lambert eyed the security guard standing by the turnstiles ten meters away, mentally weighing his options. As much as he wanted to stomp Karadin into the concrete of the platform, he didn’t feel like spending the night in jail. And Aiden probably wouldn’t be too pleased with him, either…

Karadin followed his gaze with a grunt of annoyance. A breeze ruffled Lambert’s hair in advance of the incoming train emerging from the tunnel.

“I won’t warn you twice.” Karadin spat on the ground by Lambert’s boots. “Don’t let me see you around him again.”

The train screeched to a stop, and with a pleasant electronic tone, the doors slid open. Lambert lost sight of Karadin in the crush of people disembarking. By the time the crowd thinned, he was gone.

Lambert stood blankly on the platform, adrenaline-fueled heartbeat pounding in his ears, forgetting to actually board his train until the doors almost closed on him and left him behind.

✴

Lambert poked at the tiramisu on the table in front of him, watching the front door anxiously.

The food was delicious, as always, but he couldn’t enjoy it the way it deserved with so much weighing on his mind. He wouldn’t have ordered anything at all, given the choice, but Marlene had insisted on feeding him anyway.

He frowned and thumbed through his messages with Aiden again. He should have been here by now. Normally Lambert wouldn’t have worried about him, but in light of today’s events…

**[21:54] Lambert:** Hey. Listen, I know it’s late, but I need to see you. Can we meet up?  
 **[21:57] Aiden:** Sure, I just got off work  
 **[21:57] Aiden:** Anyplace specific in mind?  
 **[21:58] Lambert:** Whatever’s most convenient for you is fine  
 **[22:00] Aiden:** What about that place you took me in Trastamara?  
 **[22:01] Lambert:** Sure, I can be there in ten.  
 **[22:01] Aiden:** See you soon

Lambert chewed his lip, double checking the time stamp for what must have been the dozenth time. Should he head out to look for him? It had been almost forty-five minutes at this point. The Silver Spoon was only a few blocks away from Rose’s as the crow flew. It definitely shouldn’t have taken this long…

He had almost talked himself into it when the bell over the door tinkled and Aiden stepped through the door. Lambert breathed a heavy sigh of relief, waving to him from his booth at the back of the restaurant. Aiden dropped into the seat across from him a moment later, one eyebrow raised quizzically.

“Oh, that looks good,” he said, gazing longingly at Lambert’s tiramisu.

“Here.” Lambert pushed it across the table at him. “You have it. I don’t have much of an appetite.”

Aiden took a big spoonful and devoured it, sighing contentedly. “God, that’s incredible. What’s up?”

Lambert saw no reason to dance around the issue. “I ran into Karadin today.”

Aiden blanched, a heaping spoonful of mascarpone halfway to his mouth. He lowered it slowly back into the dish and swallowed. “…what happened?”

“Ran into him on a platform at the metro hub in Gran’place.” Lambert recounted the exchange grimly as Aiden sat back in the booth and listened, one hand clasped firmly over his mouth in horror.

The tiramisu sat forgotten on the table between them. When Lambert finished speaking, an uneasy silence permeated the air.

“I…” Aiden began after a minute and trailed off. “Lambert, I’m so sorry. I don’t even know what to say.”

“Why are you sorry?” Lambert shook his head. “It’s not your fault the asshole doesn’t understand boundaries.”

“It’s still not something you should be having to deal with. I…didn’t think he would go so far. He’s gotten worse.”

“Aiden, he literally broke your wrist.” Lambert gestured in his direction. “How is this worse?”

“He’s…I’m so, so sorry, Lambert.” Aiden put his head in his hands. “He’s threatened guys I’ve seen before, but he’s never been so direct about it. Messages on social media, that sort of thing. I feel horrible about this—”

“And I keep telling you not to.” Lambert rubbed his eyes and groaned. “I didn’t tell you about this so you could beat yourself up over it, you know? I just…felt like you had a right to know.”

“I appreciate that.” Aiden fiddled with the spoon.

“I _could_ round up the guys and kick his ass, if you want. Give him something else to think about for a while.”

Aiden laughed half-heartedly. “I appreciate the sentiment, but I’ve always tried to keep this part of my life as private as possible. I don’t want to involve anyone else in it unless I absolutely have to.”

“Karadin’s not giving you much of a choice, is he?”

“No.” Aiden sighed. “He’s not.”

The spoon tapped softly against the edge of the plate. Aiden stared at it as if he wasn’t really seeing it.

“Hey.” Lambert leaned down, trying to catch his gaze. “I get it. And everything is fine. Guys like him are all talk. Nothing’s gonna happen.”

Aiden frowned. “I hope so.”

In the ensuing silence Marlene breezed by their table, depositing two tiny steaming cups of espresso. Lambert took his gratefully, throwing it back in two swallows, appreciating the way the warmth of the coffee spread through his torso. Aiden rolled his cup between his fingers, staring pensively at the caramel swirl of the crema.

“Circumstances aside, I’m glad to see you,” Lambert said, making an attempt at being earnest for once.

Aiden looked up, the ghost of a smile flitting across his lips. “Yeah?”

“I’m _always_ glad to see you.” Lambert laughed. “Shame we live about as far away from each other as possible. Or maybe it’s a blessing. You might start thinking I’m annoying.”

“I’d see you every night if I could.” Aiden took a sip of his espresso. “And god, I’d eat here every night, too. I had forgotten how good everything is.” He picked up the spoon and resumed attacking the tiramisu.

“We could get dinner tomorrow, if you want.”

“Oh! Actually, I had meant to ask—a friend of mine runs a bar in Old Vizima, and another friend is playing a gig there tomorrow night. Want to come?”

“Sure, sounds fun.” Lambert grinned. “It’s a date.”

As Aiden leaned across the table to kiss him softly, lips tasting of coffee and sweet cocoa powder, the rest of Lambert’s troubles dissolved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you tell I don't like Karadin? What a fucking slimeball.
> 
> Carthia van Canten (Madame Sasha, in TW3) is one of my favorite background characters and I couldn't resist giving her a little cameo. Who knows, maybe this will come back to bite the boys later (͡• ͜໒ ͡• )


	10. Orchid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta read by [bookscorpion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookscorpion)!

By some small miracle, Lambert ended up on the same train as Aiden.

His heart even skipped a beat when he looked up to see Aiden stepping through the doors just before they shut and the train pulled out of the station at the end of Glory Lane. That caught him a little off-guard—he’d always assumed it was a metaphor—but damn if he didn’t feel it.

Aiden dropped into the seat beside his with a grin and pecked him on the cheek. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“Good timing.” Lambert grinned back.

It felt good to get out of the apartment, _really_ out, for something that wasn’t a job. Lambert hadn’t been to a show in a long time, but he’d always loved going when he was younger. He wasn’t really sure why he’d stopped. He just…had, one day, and forgotten about it entirely in the meantime.

“I was worried it would be hard to find each other once we got there, so this is great.” Aiden stretched his arms, yawning.

“You just get off work?” A stupid question, really. Aiden’s apartment was on the other side of the river. There was no reason for him to be at this station unless he was coming from Rose’s.

“I traded shifts with Guillaume. He owed me a favor.”

Lambert nodded, tossing a mental thanks to the curly-haired bastard. “Where are we going, anyway? I don’t think I’ve been to this place before.”

“The Hairy Bear.” Aiden laughed, and the sound of it spread over Lambert like warm honey. “The best and onliest gay bar in Old Vizima. I don’t go as often as I used to, but it’s usually a pretty good time. Guy who runs it is a friend of mine.”

“He the one who’s playing?”

“No—that would be Cecelia Bellante. I think I met her through Kiyan? She has garbage taste in men, but her singing voice is beautiful. It should be fun.”

“Hey, if you like her, that’s good enough for me.”

“Her music speaks for itself. You’ll see soon enough.”

The two of them disembarked the train at the crumbling art deco station in Old Vizima. Lambert didn’t spend much time in this part of town, but he had to admit there was a strange beauty to all the old buildings, stacked up around and on top of each other in a bizarre monument to the city’s golden age of architecture. 

The Hairy Bear was a ways from the station, about as close as it could have been built to the waterfront without being below sea level. Lambert could hear the thud and pound of a boisterous rock song spilling out the front door from more than a block away, and as the two of them stepped into the neon wash of the front window’s lights, he could already feel it in his eardrums.

Inside the noise was deafening, between the boom of the speakers and the overlapping conversations of all the people clustered in front of the stage. Aiden waved to the man behind the bar—a hairy bear, true to the sign, with a bushy ginger beard and a forest of chest hair prickling through his half-buttoned flannel shirt. The current source of the ruckus on stage was a violently redheaded woman with wine-stained lips and a bounty of piercings, flanked by three other women who were flogging their instruments like they owed them money.

“That Cecelia?” Lambert shouted so Aiden could hear him, but Aiden shook his head.

“Hjalmar’s sister.” He pointed at the man behind the bar. “Guess this is more like a battle of the bands thing.”

The stage lights flared as the song came to a deafening crescendo, and Lambert could just make out the words on the woman’s t-shirt, which proclaimed her to be CERYS AND THE SHIELDMAIDENS. He couldn’t particularly pick out the details of the music, given the enclosed space and volume, but he decided that he liked their energy. There was anger in the way she gripped the mic. He probably would have loved it when he was younger.

“Buy you a drink?” Aiden managed to say, and Lambert nodded enthusiastically. There was a vodka and Coke in his hand a moment later, which he sipped appreciatively as Aiden fought his way back through the throng to fetch his own drink. It was strange, he thought to himself. He couldn’t recall ever having communicated that preference to Aiden before, but he had figured it out nonetheless.

Or maybe he’d ordered it at Rose’s a few too many times. All the same, he appreciated it. There was something touching about Aiden knowing his usual. Something intimate. It sent a little thrill through his stomach as Aiden pushed his way back across the room, holding a beer can emblazoned with a white eagle, and took his hand.

“C’mon, let’s go up to the front. Cecelia should be on soon.”

Lambert let himself be led into the crush of people crowding the stage, trailing behind Aiden as he was buffeted on all sides by drunk partygoers. Aiden created space easily, not stopping until the two of them were pressed up against the barrier of the stage in front of them.

Typically, Lambert preferred not to be so close, but he had to admit there was something interesting about the vantage point. Cerys and her band finished their set with a bang just as they arrived. Lambert popped his ears gratefully in the echoing silence as the crash of the drums faded away.

Aiden craned his neck, frowning. “Where is she—oh! There.”

He gestured toward a woman in a black leather catsuit on the other side of the stage. Her hair was cropped short, and her lips were painted deep burgundy. She sported stilettos so sharp they looked like they could be used as actual knives, a layered pearl choker, and a violently purple orchid tucked behind her ear.

“Cecelia!” Aiden shouted over the ambient noise, and she turned away from the conversation she was having with a tall, dark-haired man to blow him a kiss.

“Not sure what I expected, but she is definitely not it,” Lambert said with a low whistle.

“What do you mean?”

“She looks like a dominatrix.”

Aiden laughed. “Intentionally, I’m sure. Don’t worry. You’re too good a guy for her to take an interest in you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean—” Lambert began indignantly, but the stage lights suddenly went out, silencing his protests.

The entire bar went dead quiet, as if someone had flipped a switch and turned off the noise somehow. For one breathless moment, the only remaining light emanated from the neon signs behind the bar, illuminating Aiden’s profile in a faint blue glow.

A single spotlight flared to life.

Cecilia stood in the center of it, her features cast in harsh shadow, looking more like a vampiress than anything else as a smile flitted over her lips as a haunting melody of piano and bass swelled from the darkness behind her.

_I don’t think I can’t trust my senses_   
_There’s somethin’ bout you I can’t stand_   
_You whisper like a perfect lover_   
_But you choke me out with monstrous hands_

She held the microphone tenderly, like a lover she hovered just a millimeter short of kissing. Her lips, deep red velvet washed in the gold of the spotlight, mesmerized Lambert. Her eyes, wells of impenetrable ink, were ringed in deep shadow. He couldn’t help but stare. His drink sat untouched in his hand, ice slowly melting, as he stood frozen, unable to tear himself away.

_Dopamine, Dexedrine_   
_My novocaine dream_   
_Lies taste sweet in tangled sheets, when are you coming clean?_

“Told you she was good,” Aiden murmured, nudging Lambert in the ribs, jerking him out of his own head.

Lambert swallowed. “You weren’t kidding.”

The spell was broken, but Cecelia’s resin-sweet voice still swam through Lambert’s mind. It was intoxicating. He couldn’t remember the last time music had affected him so strongly.

_I close my eyes, I’m blue and bitter_   
_I touch you, but you’re still not there_   
_I taste it when you’re thinking of her_   
_My heart withering in your hands_

_Orchid sweet, your lambskin queen_  
 _Make a ghost out of me_  
 _I can’t stand to think you see her when you kiss me…_

The fading of the melody, bleeding away into Cecelia’s soft vibrato, left him cold and wanting. Lambert shivered despite the oppressive heat of the bar, squeezing the glass in his hand as if it could anchor him.

The lights went out again.

When they returned, Cecelia was gone.

The crowd went ballistic. Lambert joined in with the cheers and clapping as best as he was able, still shaken by the way her voice had struck such a nerve in him.

“She’s really something, isn’t she?” Aiden said breathlessly. “Those clothes…”

“Thought you were gay,” Lambert retorted when he managed to find his voice.

“Yeah, but I’m not blind.” Aiden laughed. “And I’m pretty sure you’re not, either. Don’t worry, she does this to everyone. Her stage presence is…threatening.”

“One way to put it.” Lambert took a long draught of his drink, shaking his head like he was trying to clear his ears of water.

Cecelia Bellante materialized a moment later, throwing her arms around Aiden’s neck. “Aiden! I’m so glad you made it!”

“Wouldn’t have missed it.” Aiden awkwardly returned the embrace, taking care not to spill his beer on her.

The purple orchid, delicately pinned into Cecelia’s hair, almost fell to the floor. She caught it just in time, laughing, and tucked it behind Aiden’s ear. He raised a bemused eyebrow at her, but she shook her head.

“I only needed it for the set, and it suits you better, anyway. Now, how’s Kiyan? Tell me absolutely everything—”

Lambert hid behind his glass, trying to look inconspicuous. He wasn’t the type to run from a fight, but in this situation he felt oddly out of place. Cecelia was larger than life in a way he wasn’t used to. It was difficult to reconcile the dark, mesmerizing energy of her performance with the bubbly presence she had off stage.

“Shit, I’m sorry”—Aiden tugged on Lambert’s sleeve, dragging him into the middle of things anyway—“this is my boyfriend, Lambert.”

Lambert stammered a greeting and took a sip of his drink to cover for it.

“Thanks for coming out,” Cecelia said with a bright smile. “It’s been a while since I had a gig.”

“Too long,” Aiden added. “I’ve missed hearing you sing.”

“I have CDs, you know.”

Aiden laughed. “We both know it’s not the same.”

“Hjalmar has a handful for sale up at the bar.” Cecelia pecked him on the cheek. “I’ve got to run—let’s do brunch soon, okay?”

She was gone as suddenly as she had appeared, vanishing into the crush of people crowding the bar as the next set of musicians took the stage. Judging by the singer’s mohawk, spiked jacket, and near-illegible t-shirt, things were about to get loud.

Aiden grimaced. “I really only came for Cecelia. I know we haven’t been here long, but…”

“Yeah, I’m not big on crowds.” Lambert drained his drink. “Want to go?”

“After you.”

✴

The bang and crash of the music spilling out the Hairy Bear’s front door echoed down the alleyways of Old Vizima for blocks. It didn’t properly fade until the metro’s doors slid shut behind Lambert and Aiden and the train pulled out of the station.

“I didn’t expect it to be so slammed,” Aiden said with an apologetic smile. “It’s usually a pretty good time. They have trivia nights and everything.”

Lambert shrugged. “I had fun.”

“Still.” Aiden sighed. “I was hoping to spend more time with you tonight.”

“So what? My place is close. You can stay the night if you want. I promise it’s clean this time.”

Aiden laughed. “I never cared about that. But sure, I’d be happy to.”

He leaned into Lambert, orchid still tucked behind his ear, as the train skidded to a stop at the station on Glory Lane where the two of them had intersected only an hour or so earlier. Lambert relaxed, a warmth spreading through his chest that had nothing to do with the alcohol he’d drunk, basking in the faint violet glow that emanated from the front of the Bastoy Clubhouse opposite the station. The shade matched the blossom perfectly. Lambert found himself wondering faintly, not for the first time, what exactly went on in there.

Maybe Aiden knew. He’d never really asked.

He lost the thought when the train started moving, melting away as the train’s fluorescent lighting overpowered the neon, and didn’t find it again until the two of them pushed through his front door and collapsed, laughing and tangled up in each other, on the couch.

“…Hey,” he said as they pulled apart for air, warmth already spreading through his body. “You said you’re into bondage, right?”

Aiden raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”

“Would you want to do that? With me, I mean?”

“What prompted this?”

“I was just thinking about it. I don’t know.” Lambert shrugged. “It isn’t something I’ve tried before.”

“And I did tell you that this isn’t something you need to do if you want to date me,” Aiden said gently. “The last thing I ever wanted to do was pressure you.”

“I _know_ that. You haven’t. I was just thinking—it could be fun, right? I haven’t really…you know. Experimented much.”

Lambert’s face burned. He kicked himself internally for his lack of eloquence as Aiden leaned in, his expression impossibly tender, and kissed him.

“It means a lot that you would trust me enough to want to try this with me. Really. On the other hand…” Aiden looked around. “Shibari is a pretty involved process, and I kind of doubt you have a bunch of rope lying around.”

“Yeah, you got me there.”

“There _are_ other things we could do, though.” Aiden cocked his head, humming to himself. “It might be better to start with something simple, anyway.”

“I’m listening.”

Aiden grinned. “All we need is a belt. We can use mine to bind your wrists, if you want to try it. It’s a lot less overwhelming than a full-on harness.”

Lambert considered it for a moment, his cock already stiffening against his jeans at the thought of Aiden fucking him like that. At the loss of control that should have terrified him, but only ever left him wanting more. There was a part of him that wanted to see just how deep that desire actually went.

“I’m game.” He leaned in and kissed Aiden, nipping at his bottom lip when he pulled away. “Let’s do it.”

Aiden kissed him again by way of answer, drawing out the contact like there was something about Lambert he was trying to savor. Lambert’s pulse thudded in his ears, sending little waves of anticipation coursing through his body. Something about this suddenly felt so much more real. Perhaps it was because they were in his apartment this time. Aside from the one regrettable night that had ended with a concussion and Aiden keeping vigil over his sleeping body, the two of them hadn’t spent much time here together.

There was a thrill in that, too, Lambert realized. In Aiden fucking him in his own bed. It solidified the fact that this wasn’t just some fever dream fling that ended the moment Lambert stepped across the threshold. Aiden occupied the empty spaces in his life effortlessly.

“Shall we?” Aiden murmured when they pulled apart, flicking his gaze toward the bedroom.

Lambert grinned, taking Aiden by the hand and leading him down the hall. His bed was still unmade, the charcoal grey duvet a rumpled mess, but that didn’t matter in the slightest. They would only have made a mess of it anyway.

His heart thudded rapidly in his chest as the two of them crossed the threshold and Aiden pulled him close, his palm gripping the back of Lambert’s neck. There was force behind his kiss, insistent and exhilarating. Aiden sucked at his lip, the sharp edge of his teeth cutting into the flesh, and Lambert hissed.

More. More of Aiden. More of his thigh pressed against Lambert’s cock, warm even through the fabric of his jeans. More of his skin, newly visible as Lambert’s hands fisted in his sweater and coaxed it over his head. More of his scent, heady and intoxicating, mixing with the smell of Lambert’s deodorant and the remnants of the forest-scented candle on the nightstand as the two of them tangled up in each other so tightly it seemed that they would never be able to let go.

Not that Lambert wanted to. Everything in his being cried out for Aiden. If he had managed somehow to get him under his skin, that still wouldn’t have been close enough.

They shed their clothes in clumsy stages, trying to extricate themselves without actually losing contact with one another. Aiden tugged his belt free of its loops with a grunt and set it on the bed beside him, his lips lingering on Lambert’s as he hummed in anticipation.

“…what now?” Lambert asked when they finally broke apart, realizing that he didn’t have the faintest idea of how this logistically worked.

“Hm.” Aiden glanced around the room, from the bed to the threadbare rug to the beat-up dresser. “This might be better standing, actually. You won’t be able to use your arms to prop yourself up. Ah—” he said, looking as if he had just remembered something. “Do you have—?”

“Yeah.”

Lambert got up and dug around in the top dresser drawer until his searching fingers found the strip of condoms and half-empty bottle of lube haphazardly hidden underneath the mismatched socks and underwear. He tossed them to Aiden. “This work?”

“Of course.” Aiden dropped them on the duvet next to the belt. “First, though…”

Lambert’s breath caught in his throat as Aiden slowly walked over to him, floorboards creaking beneath his feet, and pressed his lips to Lambert’s cheek. To the corner of his jaw. To his neck, the hollow of his throat, his collarbone, his chest.

“What are you…” Lambert trailed off, swallowing, as Aiden got on his knees.

“Pleasure before pain,” Aiden said with a coy smile, kissing Lambert’s stomach just above the base of his cock.

“I—oh _shit,”_ Lambert gasped as Aiden swallowed him down. His fingers tangled in Aiden’s curls, anchoring him, though he couldn’t consciously remember reaching out. Everything around him—the chill of the bedroom that the creaking radiator struggled to keep at bay, the faint sound of his downstairs neighbors arguing in their apartment, the very floor beneath his feet—fell away in an instant. There was nothing left but Aiden, impossibly warm and inviting, his tongue massaging Lambert’s cock with every thrust he failed to suppress.

The drawback to being with Aiden, and the only real complaint that Lambert was capable of registering at the moment, was that they were almost _too_ in tune with one another. Aiden had already taken note of most of his weak spots, and exploited them mercilessly at times like these. It was to the point that, if Lambert wasn’t extremely careful, he might have reached the edge of his pleasure and thrown himself over it already.

Aiden looked almost disappointed when Lambert pushed him away, groaning through clenched teeth.

“I’m sorry,” he explained, his heart pounding in his chest so loudly he could hardly hear himself talk. “It’s too much.”

“It’s alright.” Aiden got to his feet, seaglass-green eyes meeting Lambert’s through his lashes. “Don’t apologize.”

There was an impossible tenderness in Aiden’s expression as he pulled Lambert close, their bodies pressed together as he kissed him softly. In Aiden’s arm wrapped around his waist. In his opposite hand tangling in Lambert’s hair. The two of them swayed slowly, drinking each other in. It was almost, Lambert faintly registered, as if they were dancing.

Aiden pressed his forehead against Lambert’s, humming to himself thoughtfully.

“What’s up?”

“I can’t believe I almost forgot—we need a safe word.”

“Seriously?” Lambert pulled back, raising an eyebrow.

Aiden nodded. “It’s important. Explanations and requests can be hard to articulate if you’re feeling overwhelmed. It should be an unusual word. Something that’s simple, but you wouldn’t usually say.”

“Why don’t you pick it, then?”

“It’s better if you do. Easier to remember something you chose yourself.”

“Huh. Okay, then, what about…” Suddenly it seemed that every word that Lambert had ever known had promptly exited his head. He grasped at straws, fumbling mentally through the past day for inspiration. He glanced at the discarded flower that sat on the nightstand. “What about ‘orchid’?”

A grin slowly spread across Aiden’s face. “Orchid.”

“It’s topical.” Lambert shrugged.

Aiden laughed. “I like it.”

“So then…” Lambert flicked his gaze meaningfully toward the supplies carelessly scattered across his bedspread. It was funny, really, how quickly any concern over appearing too eager vanished when Aiden had him cornered like this. He could barely think over the insistent throb of his cock.

“Mm.” Aiden kissed him one last time, biting at his lip. “Give me a minute.”

It was more like two, by the time everything was said and done. Aiden donned the condom, stroking himself a few times experimentally, and then, his lube-slick hand held awkwardly out of the way, held up the belt. “Are you ready for this part?”

“Please,” Lambert groaned. He had been more than ready for the past twenty minutes. If this dragged out much longer, the anticipation was going to kill him.

“Come here, then,” Aiden murmured.

There was a note in his voice that Lambert couldn’t help but obey. Anticipation curled in his gut as he stood where Aiden indicated.

“I’m going to bind your hands behind your back,” Aiden explained, moving to stand behind him. “If there’s anything you don’t like about this, anything that feels wrong, if something hurts more than you want it to—tell me, okay?”

Lambert nodded.

Aiden’s breath was hot against the back of Lambert’s neck as he took Lambert’s hands and pulled them behind his back, wrists crossed. The leather of the belt, when Aiden threaded it through its own buckle and pulled the loop tight around Lambert’s wrists, was worn and supple. The force Aiden applied to the loose strap held it tight. Lambert flexed against the binding experimentally.

“This stops the second you say so,” Aiden said, the seriousness in his voice undercut somewhat by the dark thrum of desire. “And if you want it to, you say—?”

“Orchid,” Lambert replied, heat rising to his face.

He could practically hear the smile on Aiden’s lips. “Good boy.”

Something about that honeyed voice, whispering those words right next to his ear, made Lambert’s knees go weak. Christ, how had he gotten in so deep? A month ago, the thought that anyone could coax a reaction like this out of him would have been laughable.

Aiden’s fingers, still slick with lube, caressed the curve of Lambert’s ass, and he abandoned that line of thought immediately. It was strange, being bound. Lambert had the acute sensation of not knowing what to do with his hands, but he couldn’t have moved them if he wanted to.

“Is this okay?” Aiden murmured, kissing the back of Lambert’s neck.

“Yes,” Lambert gasped.

Aiden’s fingers worked slow circles over him, spreading what was left of the lube. Lambert sucked air through his teeth. His cock strained between his thighs, desperate for friction. He made a fist with his bound hand. _Don’t beg._

That didn’t stop him pushing back against Aiden’s touch, though. Seeking more. Biting his lip when the slick length of Aiden’s sheathed cock pressed against his ass. Lambert’s breath caught in his throat as Aiden finally, mercifully, lined himself up with Lambert’s body and pushed slowly inside.

This. This was what he had been missing all week. Lambert let out a low moan as Aiden bottomed out, hips pressed tight against his ass, belt loop held securely around his wrists. Heat washed over him, spreading through his body like water. How could it possibly feel this good? Was he just so horny that any touch of Aiden’s felt like heaven, or was it something more? Was it the helplessness, the concession of power, the loss of control? Was it the scent of Aiden, the warmth of his flesh, the tenderness in his touch even as he restrained Lambert with an iron grip?

Aiden thrust slowly in and out of him, growling under his breath. The belt rapidly became leverage, a convenient way for him to pull Lambert back against him as he took what he wanted. Lambert found himself leaning forward, testing his bonds, savoring the stretch in his shoulders as Aiden held his weight.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” Aiden groaned. “You look good like this…bondage suits you…”

Lambert couldn’t help but agree, as Aiden thrust in to the hilt and sent waves of pleasure shuddering through his body. His neglected cock twitched, the silvery bead of precum at the tip threatening to spill over. He grit his teeth, praying for friction, pulling almost unconsciously at the ties that bound him, as if he had any hope of getting free.

Aiden’s lips pressed against Lambert’s back—nipping at the flesh, sucking at the bite marks, curling into an unmistakable smile against his skin. Lambert groaned, his skin prickling as if with electricity, hovering somewhere at the tipping point between under- and over-stimulation. He pushed back against Aiden’s thrusts as best he could, chasing a deeper pleasure that eluded him at every turn. Gasping, he let out a small sound of frustration.

“All you had to do was ask,” Aiden said, his voice thick with desire, and reached around Lambert to firmly grasp his cock.

Lambert almost _whined,_ and he was too far gone to care about how embarrassing that was. He was already plenty wet on his own, and that combined with the warmth and residual slickness of Aiden’s hand made his touch feel like heaven. He surrendered to it, let himself be washed out with the rising tide of pleasure that was building in his core as Aiden stroked him in time with his thrusts. Deep, long, forceful. Better than any fantasy Lambert could have constructed. If not for how tangible all of it was, he might have thought he was in a dream.

Aiden was so much stronger than he looked. Lambert wondered briefly if he could have held both his weight and someone else’s like this and still managed to maintain a rhythm. The answer was almost unequivocally no. Aiden’s line of work had probably contributed to his deceptive strength. Lambert had already learnt the hard way how much effort it took to dance the way Aiden did.

“You’ve gone awfully quiet,” Aiden said with a note of concern, slowing the pace. “Are you okay?”

Lambert nodded desperately, feeling the loss of friction. “Fine—please—”

He pushed back against Aiden with what little leverage he had, trying to coax a little force out of him. A little harder. A little deeper. If he had that, he was sure he could get off—

Aiden swore under his breath and complied, pulling on the belt to bring Lambert even closer. To change the angle, ever so slightly, so that his cock grazed the right spot with every single thrust. Pleasure shot through Lambert, prickling in his core so strongly that it bordered on discomfort. He grit his teeth and bore it, his breath forcing its way up his throat in short grunts that were mirrored with Aiden’s every stroke.

More. Lambert used what little leverage he had to reciprocate, and Aiden responded enthusiastically, tightening his grip on Lambert’s cock. It was beautiful, in a way, the small part of Lambert’s mind that was still capable of making such observations noted. The sweat and struggle of it. The sounds Aiden made. The way Lambert, usually such an independent prick, became putty in his hands so easily. The freedom of letting go. The trust it took to know that he _could._

Shit. He loved Aiden, didn’t he?

That thought, warm and thrilling and simultaneously terrifying, was what sent him tumbling over the edge, groaning far louder than was probably wise with the neighbors in such close proximity. Lambert shuddered as Aiden continued working him with one hand, growling in response to the rhythmic spasms of Lambert’s body.

It was all Lambert could do to stay upright in the face of such overwhelming stimuli. His right leg threatened to buckle beneath him and Aiden braced it with his own, holding Lambert tight against his body as he continued fucking him in long, smooth strokes.

There, Lambert pled silently, unable to do anything more than attempt to get his ragged breathing under control. Aiden was so close he could smell it, taste the droplets of sweat that collected at his collarbone. But bound like this…

He did the only thing within his power at that moment, which was to twist awkwardly and press a kiss to Aiden’s desperate lips. Sloppy, swollen, bruised. Spent, wanting. Lost, found.

Aiden came with a low moan, as tangled up in Lambert as it were possible for him to be. The sound sent a little twinge of pleasure shivering through Lambert’s body. All of it—all of _him_ —was perfect. God only knew what Lambert had done to deserve him.

A moment later, the belt loop slackened. Lambert’s hands were free, but he didn’t have the faintest idea what to do with them now. He took one unsteady step in the direction of the bed before realizing he wasn’t going to make it that far and sinking rather ungracefully to the floor.

Aiden was there in an instant, lips pressed softly to Lambert’s forehead, warm hands gently massaging the sore marks the belt had left on Lambert’s wrists. Lambert’s fingertips prickled as the blood slowly began to circulate again.

“Are you alright?” Aiden murmured, desire long since melted away, replaced by care and concern.

Lambert nodded weakly. He didn’t have the right words to explain that the issue was less pain than the wave of endorphins that had unexpectedly crashed over him.

Aiden cupped Lambert’s face, looking directly into his eyes. “What do you need?”

“Water,” Lambert managed.

“I’ll be right back.”

There was a pang in Lambert’s chest when Aiden slipped out of the room. There was a part of him that still didn’t want Aiden to go, even with the promise that he would be right back. Alone in the room, he was suddenly aware of how utterly vulnerable he was, collapsed on the floor and stinking of sex. He forced himself to take a long, deep breath and sighed it out.

Aiden was back a moment later, condom disposed of, carrying a tall glass of water. He sat on the floor beside Lambert and watched him intently as he accepted it and drained it dry.

“What’s up?” Lambert said hoarsely when he set the glass aside, feeling significantly more like himself.

“Hm?”

“You keep looking at me like I’m primed to explode or something.”

“No—I’m sorry.” Aiden sighed. “I feel like I got a bit carried away with myself. That was too much.”

“It was fine. I’m fine.”

The two of them lapsed into silence for a time, listening to the creak and hiss of the radiator.

“Actually, no,” Lambert corrected himself. “It wasn’t fine. It was fucking fantastic. I…didn’t know it could be like that.”

“What do you mean?”

Lambert frowned, trying to think of the words. “I don’t know. Intense? Exhilarating. You’ve fucked me before, but it was nothing like that.”

“Looks like you just found a kink.” Aiden chuckled, though the sound was still hesitant. “We can try it again sometime, if you want. With something better than a belt. I’d rather…hmm. Next time I’d rather it weren’t so spur-of-the-moment, though. We should have discussed it more beforehand. Set boundaries.”

Lambert shrugged. “This is all new to me.”

“One thing at a time.”

Lambert nodded.

Increasing cold and discomfort eventually forced Lambert to his feet and into the bathroom to clean up. When he returned, Aiden was already asleep in the bed, one arm thrown over his face to shield out the light. Lambert turned off the lamp, feeling uncharacteristically affectionate. Something about the way Aiden looked in that moment made Lambert want to follow him to the ends of the earth.

He slipped underneath the covers, still marveling at his luck that Aiden had chosen _him,_ out of all the people he could have had his pick of. That it was Lambert who got to pull him close in the dark of the room and wrap his arms around his waist. That it was Lambert who would wake up, sore and bleary-eyed, tomorrow morning with Aiden’s warmth still radiating from his side of the bed.

A nagging voice in the back of his head said that this was too good to be true.

He stomped it down as he closed his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man. Y'all, this chapter killed me dead. I'm posting this posthumously.
> 
> Cecelia's song goes to the tune of Francis Forever (songwriting is not my forte, overall). The detail didn't make it into the chapter, but the punk who takes the stage after her is Gaetan, and his death metal band is called STYGGA. I couldn't not give him a cameo.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the chapter!


	11. Honor Among Thieves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta read by [bookscorpion!](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookscorpion) 📚🦂

Lambert awoke the next morning to a missed text from Geralt.

 **[08:42] Geralt:** Text me when you’re up. Got a job for you.

Lambert made a small sound of annoyance and stretched under the covers, slowly rotating his sore wrists. Work was the last thing he wanted to think about right now, with Aiden’s inviting warmth just inches away and the fog of sleep still rolling around the inside of his head. Surely it was nothing that couldn’t wait…

“Mmph…morning,” Aiden mumbled, stirring beside him. “What’s wrong?”

“Work.”

“Ah.” Aiden grimaced, scooting closer to Lambert under the covers. “Do you need me to go?”

Lambert glanced at the waiting message on his phone screen and then back at Aiden. It was no contest as to which he preferred.

“Nah.” He set the phone back down and wrapped his arms around Aiden, drinking in his warmth. “It can wait a little longer.”

✴

_“Took you long enough,”_ Geralt said when he picked up the phone, bypassing the greeting entirely.

“I was busy. What’s up?”

An exasperated sigh on the other end of the line. _“Picked up a small job out in the Putrid Grove. Eskel and I already took a contract running interference for Philippa. Can you handle it?”_

“Do I have a choice?”

_“No.”_

Lambert rolled his eyes. “Then sure. Tell me where.”

_“To be honest, I didn’t get many details. Gotta go talk to Bedlam.”_

Even better. “Fine. Meet you at Rose’s later?”

_“Sure. Catch you later, Lambert.”_

The Bits was typically lauded as the worst neighborhood in the city, but that wasn’t strictly speaking true. There was one place in town that was far rougher around the edges, and even the more hardened thugs from Lambert’s borough typically steered clear of it.

The Putrid Grove.

The name really didn’t do it justice. The tent city sat on the Pontar’s western shore, south of Old Vizima, in the marshy floodplain. During low tide it stank worse than the fish market did at the height of summer, and this time of year the frigid mud that squelched around Lambert’s boots as he made his way between tents and cardboard shacks was all but guaranteed to cause gangrene if it worked its way through the leather.

Despite appearances, not everyone who lived in the grove was a sinner. True, there were quite a few who preferred it for its lawlessness, but just as many folk landed here because they quite simply didn’t have anywhere else to go. Rent was high, jobs were scarce, and help was scarcer still. At the very least, those who called the Grove home could count on its self-proclaimed monarch to protect them. His men kept the peace better than most cops Lambert knew.

Francis Bedlam, styled ‘The King of Beggars’ by the thugs who paid tribute to him, was small fry compared to big fish like Philippa or Emhyr. Even Dijkstra outranked him in the underworld’s hierarchy, though not by much. For every large swath of territory claimed by Aretuza or Emhyr, there were a dozen minor crime bosses squabbling over the scraps. Bedlam had managed to lay claim to such a large chunk of the city because of the simple fact that no one else wanted it. It was difficult for Lambert to picture someone like Dijkstra squatting in the mud with the rest of the poor saps who called the Grove home.

All things considered, Bedlam had done pretty well for himself. He’d amassed a decent following over the years—big enough that, as rumor had it, he’d felt ballsy enough to turn down Philippa’s offer to recruit him as an underboss for Aretuza. The King preferred to make his own way.

As a result, he didn’t often have use for mercs. Lambert had only been called out to the Grove once or twice, and even then only for minor jobs. Bedlam wasn’t hurting for manpower. Anything that called for force could easily be handled in house.

That begged the question, then: what could he possibly need Lambert for?

Lambert flashed his wolf’s head medallion to the men posted outside Bedlam’s shack, and they let him pass. It was one of the nicer structures scattered in the river muck, although that wasn’t saying much. The bulk of it consisted of two shipping containers, stacked one on top of the other. It stood quite a bit taller than the various tents and lean-tos gathered around it.

The lower half of the structure was set up as an office, and heavily decorated with stolen items Bedlam had received as tribute. The desk that occupied most of the space was wildly incongruous with its surroundings, well-constructed as it was of polished mahogany. The man who sat behind it somehow managed to look even more out of place.

Francis Bedlam didn’t have as imposing of a physique as Dijkstra, but that didn’t make him any less of a threat. The way he held himself was every bit as deceptive as his thieves were. On the surface, he was kind—even avuncular—but Lambert had heard through the grapevine the things he was capable of. In Bedlam’s line of work, it was better not to stand out. Emhyr’s prim black suits wouldn’t have served him. The threadbare pea-green wool coat and patched jeans he wore, on the other hand, suited him perfectly. Easier to get away with a heist by far when blending into the crowd was an option.

“Took you long enough,” Bedlam barked by way of greeting as the container’s metal floor clanged under the impact of Lambert’s steel-toed boots.

Lambert shrugged. “I had places to be. Came as soon as I could.”

“Aye, I bet you did.” Bedlam shook his head disparagingly.

“Geralt mentioned a job?”

“A milk run. Assuming you’re up to the task.”

Lambert folded his arms and raised an eyebrow.

Bedlam laughed. “That’s the spirit. I assume you’re familiar with one Whoreson Junior.”

Lambert racked his brain, but didn’t come up with much. The late Cyprian Wiley, not-so-affectionately known as Whoreson Junior, had had even less clout where territory was concerned than Bedlam. If he had use for mercenary services, he’d bought them from someone else. Lambert vaguely remembered him making a play at taking over some of the more sordid business that operated out of Glory Lane, but Philippa had nipped that in the bud rather enthusiastically.

“I assume this has something to do with him pushing up daisies?”

Bedlam nodded. “They fished him out of the river a few weeks back. No one knows who killed him, and frankly no one cares. He was bad for business. At best, he was a pest. Glad to be rid of him.”

“And he’s important because?”

Bedlam chuckled, casting his gaze through a cutout in the container’s wall that was serving as a window toward the looming silhouette of the cathedral on Temple Isle through the fog. “Funny, isn’t it? We live in the dirt, just steps away from God’s great mercy. Always stuck in the shadow of the Eternal-fucking-Fire.”

Lambert shook his head. “I don’t get it.”

“You will.” Bedlam turned back toward Lambert. “You see, not long before poor Junior met his untimely end, he decided he wanted to become a man of the Church. Got himself a lovely house on Temple Isle, renounced his heathen ways, the works. As my sources have it, he was sitting on quite a nest egg.”

“I’m listening.”

“I have intentions of, let’s say ‘retrieving,’ those assets. I can do my boys quite a bit of good with a sum that large.”

“No doubt. Sounds like it’s in your wheelhouse.” Lambert frowned. “Which is to say—it doesn’t exactly seem like you’re hurting for thieves. Why hire muscle?”

Bedlam chuckled. “It isn’t time to rock the boat just yet. I’ve got a few things I need to take care of before I make an open move for power. Timing is everything in a city like this. You should know as well as anyone.”

“And?”

“And so, I’d like you to pay Junior’s house a little visit. Knock out his thugs, or scare ‘em off. No bodies—I’m not trying to start a war. Get the lay of the land, and report back to me. My men’ll handle the actual extraction. Understood?”

“That’s a bit more than a milk run, Bedlam.”

Bedlam waved a hand. “You’ll have your pay. And my gratitude—which may not be worth much now, but one day…”

“One day, you’ll own this city. Yeah, yeah.” Lambert sighed. “If I had a nickel…”

Bedlam laughed. “You’ve got balls, I’ll give you that. So, what d’you say?”

Lambert mulled it over for a moment. “Thirty percent premium. I need an extra man.”

“Fifteen.”

“Twenty.”

“Done.” Bedlam spat in his palm and held it out for Lambert to shake. His grip was like a vise, but Lambert didn’t flinch.

“Alright,” Lambert said, wiping his hand on his jeans. “Might take me a day.”

“Whatever you need. Don’t wait too long, though.” Bedlam shook his head. “I wouldn’t be surprised if others had the same plans I do. No golden goose, no golden egg. Clear?”

“Crystal.” Lambert nodded his farewell. “I’ll call you when it’s done.”

As soon as his boots hit mud again, Lambert pulled his phone out of his pocket and shot a text to Geralt.

 **[14:11] Lambert:** Job’s bigger than we thought. Could use a hand

He was almost back to the metro station in Old Vizima before the response finally came through.

 **[14:32] Geralt:** Eskel and I are tied up. Can it wait?  
**[14:34] Lambert:** Time sensitive  
**[14:34] Geralt:** Shit.  
**[14:35] Geralt:** Roche might be willing to help out. Owes me one.

Lambert rolled his eyes as he dropped into the train’s cheap plastic seat.

 **[14:36] Lambert:** That pompous ass? If I wanted a drill sergeant I’d enlist  
**[14:38] Geralt:** Text Ves then. Best I got.

Ves. That wasn’t the worst idea, Lambert decided, weighing his options. She was still Blue Stripes, but a damn sight less scrupulous than their leader. He still hadn’t fully forgiven her for the tattoo incident, but at least he could stand her company for more than twenty minutes.

Good enough. He thumbed his phone screen and opened a new message.

 **[14:40] Lambert:** Hey goody two shoes, you busy?

The reply was near-instantaneous.

 **[14:40] Ves 🖕:** Fuck you, Lambert  
**[14:41] Ves 🖕:** What’s up?

 **[14:43] Lambert:** Got a job for Bedlam, out on temple isle. Could use a hand?  
**[14:44] Ves 🖕:** Why not  
**[14:44] Ves 🖕:** I was getting bored anyways  
**[14:44] Ves 🖕:** When and where?  
**[14:45] Lambert:** Elector’s square, 6. Should be dark by then  
**[14:46] Ves 🖕:** 50/50?  
**[14:46] Lambert:** You bet your ass

 **[14:48] Ves 🖕:** I’ll be there

Backup taken care of, Lambert slipped his phone back into his pocket. He found himself playing with the scrap of paper with Aiden’s number on it as the train rattled down the tracks.

✴

The city teetered on the edge of dusk as Lambert stepped off the ferry and onto the landing at Temple Isle. The sun had long slipped below the horizon; soon the last soft purples of the evening sky would give way to inky blackness.

Not that it was ever truly dark on the island. It squatted like a slumbering god in the center of the Pontar, its streets lit by gas lanterns and openly burning braziers day and night. Lambert felt oddly out of place wandering the cobblestone streets toward the cathedral at the island’s zenith in his leather jacket and motorcycle boots. Coming here always felt like traveling back in time.

Ves, lingering by a bench on the edge of Elector’s Square, stuck out like a sore thumb. She drew attention on a good day, with her bleach-blond hair cropped close to her skull, scars streaking her freckled face, and plethora of tattoos, but to top it all off she was dressed in a garish pair of blue-and-yellow striped leggings reinforced with plating on the knees and thighs, and a loosely-tied shirt that left more exposed than it covered.

“Fuck happened to stealth?” Lambert said by way of greeting, looking her up and down.

Ves shrugged. “I have roller derby after this. Besides, looks only matter if they have time to see me.”

“Fair enough.” Lambert sighed heavily.

“How’s your ass?” she said with a grin.

Lambert glared at her, acutely aware of the sloppy lines of his tattoo. “Nicer than yours.”

She laughed. “So what’s the job?”

“Smash-and-grab. Bedlam’s got his eye on the prize. We just need to clear the way for his team.”

“Who’re we smashing?”

“What’s left of Whoreson Junior’s posse.”

Ves laughed. “Thank fuck. I thought this was going to be boring.”

“Let’s go, then.” Lambert nodded in the direction of their target. “Time’s wasting.”

The house in question sat on the far side of Elector’s Square, tucked down a claustrophobic alley. Its narrow brick facade had every bit of the old world charm as the rest of the island, although the violently purple front door was definitely out of place. Lambert eyed it warily as he and Ves crept down the street, but against all odds it appeared to be unguarded.

That couldn’t be a good sign. He frowned to himself and weighed his options.

Ves whistled softly and nodded at a high wall just past the house. Lambert sized it up and nodded back. Odds were good it led to the house’s back garden. Given a boost, it wouldn’t be difficult to clear.

He crouched at the foot of the wall and laced his fingers together. “Ready?”

Ves cracked her knuckles, and the brass rings around them glinted in the gaslight. “Let’s fuck ‘em up.”

She took two running steps and easily cleared the wall with his assistance. A moment later came the unmistakable sound of a fist striking flesh and the muffled thump of a body hitting the ground.

Ves was back a moment later, grinning as she reached over the wall to offer Lambert a hand. He got a running start and caught it as he leapt, using her grip as leverage to boost himself over.

Lambert’s boots hit dirt right beside the body of the unconscious guard sprawled out on the ground. He cast a wary glance around the unkempt garden for others, but came up empty.

“Must be a skeleton crew,” Ves remarked as Lambert used the toe of his boot to roll the man over. A cursory glance at the hideous harlequin patches that adorned his jacket confirmed him as one of Whoreson’s men. They were definitely barking up the right tree.

“Don’t bet on it.” Lambert gestured toward the house’s back door. “You want lead?”

She shook her head. “Please. This is your contract.”

“Suit yourself.”

“On your six.” She flashed him a mock salute.

Lambert sighed and made for the door. As expected, it was unlocked. That was good—he vastly preferred a quiet entry when he wasn’t sure how many men they were dealing with.

The majority of the lights in the house were off, which didn’t come as a surprise given that its owner was ostensibly dead, and there was no good reason for anyone to be here at the moment. The two of them passed through the kitchen, which was anachronistically modern, and headed down the hall. Lambert winced as the floorboards creaked under the weight of his boots.

“I’d give anything to have a place like this,” Ves muttered under her breath.

“Suck up to Bedlam hard enough, he might rent it to you.”

“Too rich for my blood.”

From up the stairs came the sound of muffled conversation. Lambert followed it, reasoning that where there was smoke there had to be fire. Whoreson’s men wouldn’t just be sitting around their late boss’s house for fun. The more of them there were, the closer they had to be to the nest egg Bedlam had mentioned.

The first step squeaked sharply as he put his weight on it, and he froze, grimacing.

“…hear that?” A voice said from somewhere above.

“Only thing I hear is you flapping your asshole,” came the response. “Ante up.”

Already drunk, from the sound of things. Lambert was almost tempted to thank god for that stroke of luck. He started climbing again, mindful of where he put his weight on each step. Ves followed close behind, pointedly skipping the one that had almost given them away.

A glance through the half-open doorway the sound was spilling out of explained why there weren’t more guards posted outside. The large, stately room looked like it had been Whoreson’s office. As with the rest of the house, the decorative touches were aggressively modern, which lent an uncomfortable sterility to the space. Four men sat around a low glass table near the door, all wearing telltale harlequin patches, playing a rather sloppy hand of cards. On the far side of the room sat a large safe. The logic here was very simple—anyone who knew about Whoreson’s so-called treasure would have known it was here. Confrontation with the guards was unavoidable. More men outside would have only drawn unnecessary attention.

 _I’ll go left, you go right,_ Lambert gestured to Ves as they stood pressed against the door frame, just out of sight. She nodded her agreement, making a brass-knuckled fist as he counted down on his fingers.

Ves was first through the door, flying at the rowdy poker players like a bat out of hell and clocking one of them in the temple before the rest of them even realized what was happening. He went down like a sack of bricks, landing square in the middle of the glass table, which cracked and then shattered under his weight.

Lambert circled wide while the remaining three were distracted, managing to grab one of them in a choke hold before his buddies noticed he was there. It was lucky, really, that these thugs were so sloppy. The liquor they’d been swilling made them slow, and the fight went out of the one Lambert was grappling with rapidly. He let the body drop the instant he stopped struggling and only just managed to dodge the ham-fisted right hook that sailed his way an instant later.

Two on two, now. Even playing field. Lambert grinned as he and his opponent circled each other. He’d have been lying if he said he didn’t enjoy a good fight. The sting in his knuckles when his haymaker connected with the man’s jaw was all the sweeter for the adrenaline shooting through his veins. It was just like a good fuck, really. Flesh on flesh. His breath coming in rapid grunts. The rush of endorphins when it was all over.

It had been a while since he’d been able to let loose like this.

Whoreson’s man threw a mean punch. Lambert misjudged the distance and swore as it connected with his jaw. He spat blood from a split lip and dodged under the next one, darting behind his opponent and jabbing him right at the base of the skull.

The man swayed unsteadily for a moment, and then went down.

Wiping his face on his sleeve, Lambert turned toward Ves, just in time to catch an eyeful of her planting her plated knee directly in the crotch of the last man standing. Lambert grimaced as the man dropped to his knees and Ves finished the job by braining him with a mostly-empty liquor bottle.

“Thanks for the backup,” she said, voice dripping in sarcasm.

“Like you needed my help.” Lambert probed his bleeding lip with his fingertips. “ ‘f you ask me, he’s the one needed protecting from you.”

Ves laughed. “Glad I haven’t lost my touch.”

Whoreson’s safe, black and sleek as obsidian, sat squarely behind his desk. Lambert sized it up, feeling suddenly very glad that Bedlam wanted to handle the actual theft himself. He’d never been much good at lockpicking, and this definitely didn’t look like a mechanism he could have brute forced, even with Ves’s help.

“What d’you think’s in there that Bedlam wants so badly?”

Lambert shrugged. “Who knows. Probably better if we _don’t_ know, honestly.”

“So what now?”

“Assuming we got all of them, I just gotta make a call. They probably won’t be out long.”

“Let’s move, then.”

✴

Bedlam answered the phone on the first ring. Lambert was thankful for that, at least. It had taken longer than expected to find a pay phone on this godforsaken island.

“It’s me,” Lambert muttered into the receiver. “Job’s done—five men down. You might want to move fast.”

 _“I’ve got boots on the ground already,”_ Bedlam said with a chuckle. _“Pleasure doing business.”_

“And my pay?”

_“Check the offering box at the shrine to Saint Lebioda south of the square. I reckon you’ll be pleased.”_

“Got it.”

Lambert hung up the receiver with a clunk and stepped out of the booth.

Ves dropped the cigarette she’d been smoking and ground it out under her heel. “Well?”

“One more stop. Come on.”

Lambert stood watch at the opening to the shrine’s alleyway while Vex jimmied the lock on the offering box. They left the myriad coins and loose cash behind, taking only the wrinkled envelope marked with a scrawl Lambert recognized as a coded symbol for windfall. He rifled through its contents and then, satisfied that everything was there, cut the stack of bills in half and passed it to Ves.

“Bless.” She tucked the money into the waistband of her leggings. “Thanks for the job. To be honest, Roche has been a bit of a hard-ass lately. Nice to have a chance to cut loose.”

“Only lately?”

Ves flipped him off.

Lambert laughed. “Fair enough. Listen, I owe you one.”

“Don’t think I’ll forget.” Ves pulled out her phone and glanced at the time, frowning. “Ah, shit. I’ve got somewhere to be.”

“Roller derby?” Lambert said incredulously, raising his eyebrows.

“You should come watch sometime.” Ves slapped him on the back and jogged off in the direction of the ferry landing. “Catch you later, Lambert!”

Lambert shook his head in disbelief as she disappeared around a corner, sucking at his split lip.

Bedlam’s money sat heavily in his pocket as he made his own way back toward the mainland.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Real talk? I had so much fun working on this chapter. Ves and Bedlam are two of my favorite minor characters and I feel like they really shine in this setting. I hope you enjoyed them as much as I do!


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